


Nobody Ever Notices Until It's Too Late

by madeofstyrofoam12



Category: Unus Annus-Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cutting, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Depictions of Suicide/Self-Harm, Homophobic Slurs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Possible Triggering Content, Self Harm, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unreliable Narrator, so many plot holes i'm sorry, touch starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25934242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeofstyrofoam12/pseuds/madeofstyrofoam12
Summary: Ethan has a history of mental illnesses, disordered eating, and self-harm. Mark doesn't know that, however, and when he unintentionally triggers Ethan during the "Mark and Ethan Share a Drink" video, it sets Ethan off into a dangerous downward spiral that Mark hopefully notices before it's too late.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 137
Kudos: 569





	1. Back to Old Habits

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys, this is my first ever story on AO3 but i've been really contemplating it for a while! i really really love this fandom and i respect the characters' sexualities and mental illnesses/lack thereof irl, this is purely fiction and i would never want to make them uncomfortable. i kinda projected my own issues onto poor eth here so it has a possibility to be very very triggering! TW!!!
> 
> also also in this chapter he glorifies SH and eating disorders, please be warned: i don't support that, the point is to show how twisted up in self-hatred his mind has become. 
> 
> hope it's not too terrible for my first time! enjoy :)

Ethan slammed back a shot of apple cider vinegar and winced, Mark laughing in the background, as the sour taste filled his mouth and burned his throat. 

They were filming the video “Mark and Ethan Share A Drink”, and Ethan was having a bit of a tough time keeping up with Mark. Mark kept insisting that they drink more and more apple cider vinegar, even though the internet said it was bad for them. Amy kept telling them to stop, sounding genuinely worried, but Mark just laughed it off. 

Ethan wanted to agree with Amy. His stomach churned and coiled, feeling nauseous. Doubling over in his chair and holding his stomach, he groaned. He genuinely felt bad and didn't want to continue, but he was afraid that Mark would make fun of him, so he tried his best to keep going and be strong. 

He glanced over at Mark, whose face and eyes were scrunched up both in apparent exaggerated agony, and amusement, as he threw his head back and laughed even harder at Ethan’s reaction. Mark was handling it a lot better than him; at least he could laugh through the pain. Although, Ethan thought, amused, to himself, it may have been due to the fact that Mark was obviously a masochist that made him able to laugh through the pain. 

Mark caught his eye when he finally stopped laughing and a menacing look immediately spread over his features. His dark eyes glimmered with playful malice, and Ethan felt a small stab of fear rush through him at the look on his friend’s face, knowing it meant nothing good for him. 

The entire bottle of apple cider vinegar was suddenly shoved into his hand, and he glanced down at it in disbelief, suddenly realizing what Mark had in mind. 

“M-Mark, no, not the whole bottle!” he exclaimed fearfully, his stomach twisting again at the thought. 

“Oh yes, the whole bottle. Don't be a little bitch,” challenged Mark. “Come on, even I could do it. I’m obviously stronger and better than you in every way, but if you can't then I guess it just proves that.” 

“B-but I-”

“Guess that proves it then. I’m better than you.” Ethan heard the obvious provocation in Mark’s tone. 

“Mark, I'll throw up!” 

Wait…

Oh. Oh, no. 

He’ll throw up. Drinking the bottle of apple cider vinegar will make Ethan throw up. 

This is such a bad idea. He's been getting better for almost a month… he hasn't done it in almost a month… he's been trying and succeeding to not run to the bathroom right after eating for almost a month…

But Mark doesn't know that. And it's not his fault that Ethan can be so easily triggered and pushed back towards that unhealthy mindset. 

He's going to be so disappointed in himself later. 

But right now all he can think about is throwing up. 

Ethan closed his eyes and quickly gulped down the bottle of apple cider vinegar before Mark could say anything else. The horrible liquid burned his throat, reminding him of what would happen afterward. He held his nose and drank it faster. 

“Woah, woah, Ethan!” Mark’s tone changed immediately as he moved closer to him. Worry was reflected in his eyes and face as he tried to grab the bottle. “Stop that! I wasn’t being serious!” 

Ethan turned away and tried to drink more. He wanted to get as much down as possible before the bottle got taken away from him. 

Almost dropping the camera, Amy let it fall to the table as she rushed to Ethan’s side. “Ethan, what are you doing? Stop!” she cried. Ethan scooted back so that she couldn’t reach him, seeing the confusion and slight panic in her eyes. He knew she was wondering what had gotten into him. 

The last drops were quickly drained as he finally dropped the bottle and took a deep breath. He felt so, so sick. Like he just drank pure poison. 

Lifting his head from his hands, he saw Amy and Mark staring at him. The situation happened so quickly, within the span of a few seconds, that they clearly had no idea what to do. They looked dumbfounded. 

Mark still had his hand half-raised toward Ethan, half out of his chair, while Amy was standing above him with her arms outstretched to grab the bottle. 

After a second, they suddenly seemed to realize that it was too late and snapped back to reality. Amy ran her hands through her dark hair and leaned back against the table, while Mark hesitantly sat back in his chair. Both still looked worried and confused. 

Amy spoke first. “Ethan, what… what was that? What just happened?” Uneasiness rose in her tone. 

“Um.” Ethan said smartly. “I- Mark dared me to, so I d-did it.” 

Awkward silence filled the room for a few seconds while they still just stared at him, clearly gathering their thoughts. 

This time, it was Mark who spoke. “Eth, I wasn’t being serious! I mean, yeah I was like making fun of you but I didn't think-” 

“That's bad for you!” Amy interjected.. “That could seriously hurt you, what were you thinking?” 

Ethan’s spine tingled and his face felt hot. Like his parents were scolding him for something stupid he did. He laughed awkwardly in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Well I mean, I’ve done worse stuff f-for this channel. And I.. I did it Mark! What’s my um.. My prize?” 

Mark’s shoulders slumped, and he visibly relaxed a bit. He laughed halfheartedly, although it was clear he still felt a bit uneasy. Ethan felt bad for making his friends worry about him. He’d have to be more subtle in order to not freak anyone out. 

Reluctantly stepping around the table and picking up her camera, Amy smiled too, even though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She started rolling again. 

“We’ll cut this part out.” murmured Mark. Silence was prevalent for a few moments, but ever-cheerful Mark was able to start joking and playing it up for the camera again. The awkwardness dissipated and soon it was as if nothing ever happened. 

Ethan hoped they would both forget about it. He didn't need people to be worried about him; it was selfish. He wasn't important enough for people to disrupt their lives to worry about him. 

Although Mark and Amy seemed to have forgotten about the vinegar incident, Ethan’s stomach sure hadn’t. It sloshed painfully and gurgled angrily all through the remaining few minutes of filming, all while he tried to act jovial for the cameras, and as soon as Amy wrapped the video up, he jumped up and hurriedly blurted out that he had to go to the bathroom, and he’d be right back. 

He locked the door behind him and almost fell, catching himself on the marbled white countertop before he went down. Ethan’s legs were weak and his esophagus was burning. Slumping over the toilet, he emptied the contents of his stomach violently. The familiar feeling of immediate emptiness in his stomach sparked both the comfort of familiarity and a slight sadness that he was doing this again. He promised himself that he would never do this again. Yet here he was, not even a month later, hurling in Mark’s bathroom after he purposely made himself throw up. 

He didn't really know why he had such a strong urge to do it. Ethan had only eaten breakfast, and the three of them had planned to eat lunch after the filming of the newest video, so it wasn’t like he had eaten a lot of calories that day. He usually tried to not think about calories in an effort to get better, but he could easily estimate that he had eaten around 400 during breakfast. Which meant that he needed to fast for a few days to burn it off now that he was going to go on this diet again. 

This whole situation was clearly a sign that he needed to start losing weight. Mark was right, after all. He was worse than Mark in every way. Ethan always saw comments telling him how he had gained weight over quarantine, and he looked gross and needed to lose some weight. They were right. He hated everything about himself. He hated his voice, how annoying he was, the way he constantly bothered all his friends, and that he wasn't as good-looking or muscular or funny as Mark.

Tears leaked out of his eyes and down his cheeks as he stifled a silent sob, still hunched over the toilet. No, no, no. He was not going to start crying at Mark’s house. Nope. He just had to keep it together until he got home, and then he could let down the happy facade. 

Ethan’s throat burned and his stomach growled, now completely empty. Standing up and walking over to the mirror, he looked at himself disgustedly. He lifted his shirt and immediate despair washed over him at how fat his stomach looked. He hated it so much. 

Washing his hands, rinsing out his mouth, and wiping his face with his sleeve helped calm him down a bit. He studied his face in the mirror. Did he still look like he had been crying? Maybe a bit glassy-eyed, but he doubted anyone would be able to tell. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the door and stepped back into the hallway. 

The cool air of Mark’s house helped calm him as he attempted to act normal. Mark and Amy looked up at him inquisitively as he walked into the kitchen. 

“You okay man?” asked Mark, concern tinging his voice slightly. He had been sitting at the table with Amy, showing her something on his phone as they laughed together. 

Ethan smiled feebly, hoping it looked convincing. “Y-yeah, I'm fine. Just a little bit.. Yeah, I'm fine.” 

Mark looked unconvinced but shrugged his shoulders anyways. Turning back to Amy, he said something in a low voice that Ethan didn't catch. Were they talking about him? He knew it. They were. They were saying bad things about him, they were saying how much they hated him, they were laughing at him and how ugly and fat and weak and pathetic he was. Sudden panic rose in his chest. He had to leave. 

Ethan managed to choke out, “I have to go,” in a tight voice. The feeling of a golf-ball sized lump forming in his throat let him know that he was seconds away from breaking down crying, and he was not going to let Mark and Amy see that. 

“Wait, what about lunch? I thought we were going to, like, order something?” Mark sounded...disappointed? No, he was just disappointed that Ethan hadn't left yet. That was what it was. 

Ethan’s ears burned, he could feel it. “I’m s-sorry, I just remembered I have to be somewhere. Sorry.” Tears welled up in his eyes, making his vision blurry as he turned quickly on his heel and half-ran to the door. Mark and Amy’s voices echoed behind him in faint protests, but he didn't look back. He could barely see as he fumbled with the lock, and practically sprinted out the door into the hot August air and to his car. Tears escaped his eyes, but he wiped them hurriedly with the back of his hand and started his car. 

Ethan drove home in silence, not even listening to music, taking shaky breaths to calm himself down. On the way home, he pulled into the parking lot of a CVS. He wiped his eyes and sniffled. The area around his eyes and nose was all red, and his eyelashes were damp. It was obvious he had been crying. He didn't care. 

Pulling the hood of his hoodie over his head, and self-consciously yanking his sleeves down over his hands, he quickly walked into the store. Not even having to look at the aisle names, he sadly knew the ones where he could find what he needed by heart. When Ethan had all his items, he walked up to the counter of the nearly-empty store. 

The cashier, a purple-haired girl who looked a few years younger than him, looked bored. She had a rainbow pride pin on her uniform, which Ethan smiled softly at. It was nice that some people were so open and carefree about who they were. But Ethan had never been able to show that part of himself. He hid it from everyone in his life. Nobody knew. They would call him such terrible names… call him a disappointment… be disgusted and never want to talk to him again. So he hid it. 

Ethan shook his head to clear his thoughts and dropped the armful of items he had onto the counter. The cashier looked down at them, then looked back up at him, looking slightly concerned. He tried to manage a weak smile, hoping she wouldn't question it. 

The girl raised an eyebrow, but began to scan the items. Ethan clumsily got out his wallet and paid for them. He felt suffocated in the silent air of the store. The girl handed him the plastic bag with his things wordlessly. 

“Have a nice day,” she said in a monotone as he walked towards the door. Ethan felt sick. He wiped his nose and thought about how ironic it was, how he was most certainly not having a good day, how terrible he felt. 

But all he managed was a weak “You too.”

When Ethan got home, the sun setting, he dumped out the bag onto his bed. And for a long time, he just looked. He asked himself if he really wanted to do this. If he really wanted to destroy all the progress he had spent so long making. 

And the answer was yes. He itched to do it. He had a physical urge. He knew he would regret it later. But it was all he wanted to do right now. 

He jumped up and practically ran into the kitchen. Frantically throwing aside things as he sorted through the cabinets and drawers, he finally found what he needed: a pen. 

Ethan hurried back to the bedroom and threw the pen onto the bed with all the other things. He took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. Except...he was tired of thinking. He didn't want to think anymore. So instead, he just gave in.

He swept the bottle of rubbing alcohol, box of gauze, and box of bandaids aside. Grabbing the 12-pack of disposable razors, he tore open the packaging and pulled out one flimsy orange razor. Snapping off the handle easily, he threw it aside like a child opening Christmas presents. He should have been ashamed and disappointed in himself, but instead he felt excited. 

Ethan clicked the pen and used it to pry the plastic casing off the blade. He was desperate and had done this many times before, so the plastic was ripped off in just a few minutes. Breathing fast, he let the single razor blade drop into his palm. 

This tiny, light piece of metal was the thing that was finally going to help him feel happy again. It was going to give him the calm, relaxing chemicals that soothe his brain. He was not going to get addicted again. He could control it this time. 

And with that, Ethan rolled up his left sleeve and lifted the blade to his forearm. He pressed down and dragged it across his skin lightly. The familiar feeling of stinging and then calmness made him sigh heavily and shut his eyes. He had missed this. Now that he thought about it, why did he ever try to stop? 

The small line welled up with minuscule droplets of blood. 

It wasn't enough. 

He dragged it again, pressing down harder this time. More small lines. 

It was still not enough. 

He pressed down with the tip of his index finger as he dragged the blade, and smiled with relief as he saw the white, styrofoam-esque inner layer of his skin. The white lasted for a second and then faded as blood quickly rushed in to fill the cut. 

That's what makes Ethan feel satisfied.

Quickly, he made more and more open cuts, and small lines when there was no more space for open ones. They filled up his arm quickly and soon he had to do the sides of his wrists, then his wrists, which an innate sense of warning told him to cut more lightly. 

He cut more and more, blood dripping down to his elbow and onto his dark pants, needing the feeling of release it gave him. 

Ethan finally realizes what he's done as he stares down at his bloodied forearm, filled with open cuts and lines, all bleeding. He feels so calm, though. A little lightheaded. His entire body is so light. 

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he peels back the phone case and sticks the blade in. Then he lazily half-throws his phone onto the nightstand and sprawls over the bed. 

His room is cold, and as he stares up at the now-darkened ceiling, Ethan realizes he didn't eat lunch or dinner. 

Pulling up his sleeve over his injured arm and not bothering to clean any of the cuts, he smiles to himself in the darkness. 

Good. 

And with that, he falls asleep, exhausted from crying and relaxed from the endorphins.


	2. Reflection and Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan reflects on his relationships. Mark finds out about one of Ethan's secrets. Ethan isn't quite honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! tysm for the kudos, comments and bookmarks!! it really means a lot to me and i'm glad you all liked chapter one so much :) 
> 
> here's chapter two, it includes graphic descriptions of self-harm, as will many/most chapters from here on out, so please don't read this if you get triggered easily. 
> 
> this chapter was kind of hard to write, tbh, because i had about a thousand different ways i wanted it to go in my head. i ended up changing it around several different times, which i hope doesn't make it seem too choppy and nonsensical. i'm not exactly sure where the story is going yet, i mean i have ideas for things i want to happen but... yeah.. ya know what i mean.
> 
> also!! i am aware that in the "wubble" video, eth was wearing a short sleeved shirt! however for the sake of the story i'm pretending he wore the black and white long sleeve Unus Annus shirt. also, if this story was meant to be realistic, it wouldnt exist in the first place anyways, because this is purely fiction :) 
> 
> enough of this long-ass AN! hope you enjoy!

Ethan woke up with a pounding headache and an aching arm. 

It took a second for the events of yesterday to collect themselves in his head, but as soon as he remembered what had happened, he internally kicked himself. How could he have been so stupid as to act so weak in front of Amy and Mark? They were probably still laughing to each other about how pathetic and weak he was. His heart shriveled at the thought. 

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Don't let them see you like that. You have to be strong when you're near them. 

His arm burned as he rolled over, and he winced slightly, yet he was thankful for the pain. He deserved it. He was weak. He needed to hurt himself for it. And during the times when he had an armful of fresh, bleeding, aching cuts, he felt like he had finally succeeded at one thing; punishing himself.

Bright afternoon light reflected off the screen of his phone on the nightstand, bouncing around the room and making him squint. Wait, afternoon?

Ethan panicked for a second, thinking that he had missed that day's Unus Annus recording and that Mark was going to be so disappointed in him. Then he realized that it was their day off, and slumped back onto the bed in relief. 

Today was their day off. 

He had a day off. One day of not having to pretend to be confident around Mark, one day of not having to deal with his concerned questions, one day of not having to pretend he didn't notice the pitying looks Amy shot him sometimes when she thought he wasn't looking. 

And one day of being able to do whatever he wanted. Since they recorded several videos each day they met up, today was the break day for both Mark and Ethan, as they had enough content to last until their next recording session. 

Ethan loved Unus Annus. He loved doing stupid stuff with Mark and making dumb jokes and hyping up his personality for the camera. 

However, the truth was that he hated having to be part of Unus Annus. He hated that everyone expected so much of him all the time. 

He hated how everyone could tell in all the videos that Mark was better than Ethan at everything he did. He was fitter, funnier, and more famous than Ethan. Ethan was just the stupid fanboy kid that Mark took pity on and invited to be his editor a few years back. How that dynamic evolved into the channel Unus Annus, he had no idea. The only rational explanation was that Mark was lying to him. 

He knew Mark lied to him. Amy, too. They both loved to pretend like they enjoyed his company, like they were genuinely friends with Ethan. But Ethan knew better. He knew deep down that they just felt bad for him, and as soon as his back was turned they immediately started insulting him to each other, and that they both secretly hated him. That they weren't telling him they hated him because they didn't want to be rude, instead just hoping that Ethan would take the hint and finally leave their lives once and for all. 

Insecurities and negative thoughts rose to the top of his head, one after another, each increasing in speed and volume until it felt like his head was overflowing. It was so loud that he couldn't think. His head was filled with shouts, still gaining volume.

He curled up into as tight a ball as he could manage, pressing his hands over his ears in an attempt to block out the overwhelming things his mind was throwing at him, one after another. Under the covers and wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, he still shivered violently and trembled.

The horrible thoughts in his head picked up speed and flowed over him, each popping briefly into his head and screaming an insecurity at him before another louder, more intense one replaced it. He felt like he was going insane, he couldn't breathe! 

You're worthless. 

They all hate you. 

You're a liar. You faker. 

You're such a terrible person. 

You don't deserve to be happy. 

Everyone would be happier if you just died. 

They all wish you would just disappear. 

Why can't you take the hint already and leave? 

You're so pathetic. Weak. 

You're so disgusting. You're fat and ugly. 

No one will ever love you. 

Nobody has ever loved you. 

Nobody loves you. 

Cheerful sunlight streamed over the small outline curled into a ball under the covers, a stark contrast to the current situation that was happening in Ethan's head. 

He felt like he was in the middle of a war zone, enemies piling attack upon attack on him and closing in, not letting him have any room to breathe or fight back. Everything was too bright, too loud, the world was spinning. He held his head in his hands, rocking back and forth, still shaking and desperately trying to suck in air, yet all he could manage were short, shallow wheezes. 

He wanted to cry so badly. But he just… couldn't. He felt so overwhelmed, and he was forced to just sit there and take it. 

All alone. He was all alone. 

He couldn't take it anymore. 

He closed his eyes and prayed to not wake up.   
\---------------------------------------------

His head felt fuzzy. Like he was in a dream. Ethan slowly opened his eyes, still drowsy and out of it. 

He was in his bedroom still. The only thing that let him know any time had passed at all was the fact that the sunlight of earlier was now replaced by creeping shadows. 

Ethan reluctantly uncurled himself and moved his head a bit, ignoring how lightheaded and thirsty he felt, and grabbed his phone off the nightstand sleepily. 

The sudden bright white hurt his eyes, and he winced as his eyes slowly adjusted. 

4:38 AM. 

Ethan sighed. He only had two and a half more hours of sleep, and he felt more tired than he did when he fell asleep. 

In two and a half hours, he had to get up, get in his car, drive to Mark’s house, and make a video with Mark. Again. All the while, he would have to know that Mark secretly hated him. 

Sounded like a fun time, that was for sure. 

He shifted, groaning as his forgotten cuts burned harshly. 

Filled with a sudden curiosity, Ethan flipped on his phone’s flashlight and pulled up his sleeve. Dried, flaking blood coated his arm, but none of the cuts were bleeding anymore. 

He felt a bit disappointed that none of them were especially deep. 

Sighing again, he flicked off the flashlight, turned over, and promptly fell back asleep. 

\-------------------------------------------

Ethan pretended to laugh as Mark stabbed the poor Wubble with a large knife. His mind was elsewhere, though. 

He wondered if he'd been keeping it together well enough. If he'd been acting normal enough. If Mark or Amy had started to suspect anything yet. 

“That's a big knife,” remarked Ethan absentmindedly. His eyes drifted to the knife and how easily it punctured the plastic skin. 

His wrists began to itch under his sleeves. 

The hot August sun beat down on them. Mark was sweating, but Ethan was shivering in his long-sleeve shirt, pants and socks. He trembled like a leaf in the wind. 

Ten minutes later, filming was over and Mark and Amy wandered off to the editing room to look back at the footage.The knife sat on the counter in its leather sheath. 

Ethan looked at the knife. He stared at it for a few moments. 

It was so smooth and sharp and long and dangerous looking. The bite of the cold metal into his skin would feel so good… 

This was a bad idea. He shouldn't do this. This was wrong. 

Don't do it! 

Ethan quickly grabbed the knife off the counter and slipped it under his shirt as he stumbled towards the bathroom. He still felt lightheaded.

Locking the door and slumping to the floor against it, Ethan held the knife between his hands like he was offering it to someone. 

His stomach flipped. This was a bad idea.

He slipped the knife out of its sheath.

This was Mark’s knife. Mark’s. 

He rolled his left sleeve all the way up to his shoulder. 

He couldn't cut himself using his best friend’s knife. 

He held the knife in his right hand and pressed the blade to his upper left arm. 

He couldn't cut himself with his best friend’s knife in his best friend’s bathroom. 

This was wrong. 

This was a bad idea. 

Something was going to go wrong. 

Something bad was going to happen. 

This was such a terrible idea.

Ethan lightly dragged the knife across his arm as he exhaled a deep breath. 

The cut was small, but it began bleeding almost immediately. It didn't bead up or take a moment; it was full-fledged bleeding within seconds. 

He was a bit shocked at the sudden quantity of blood, but then he realized that this was what he wanted. 

Repeating the action several more times, he began to breathe more rapidly. His upper arm was more sensitive than his forearm, especially the tender soft inside. Blood trickled down his elbow and dripped softly into the tile floor. 

Ethan cursed under his breath as he noticed the blood dripping, but reasoned that it would be fine. He could clean it easily and Mark and Amy would never know. 

Shallow, yet profusely bleeding cuts littered his upper left arm, all the way up to his shoulder. Blood was everywhere. 

Despite all the blood, Ethan felt relaxed. He slowly started to calm down, knife still in hand. 

Suddenly, a heavy knock sounded on the door. 

“Ethan?” It was Mark. 

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit. 

“J-just a second!” Ethan tried not to whimper as he stood up abruptly. Black spots danced in front of his eyes as he stumbled over to the toilet, frantically pulling sheets of toilet paper off and mopping the floor with them quickly. 

He threw the bloodstained wads into the garbage can and checked the floor one last time. Clean. 

Ethan grabbed more toilet paper and quickly wiped his arm with it. 

It didn't stop bleeding. 

He wrapped the toilet paper around his upper arm, desperately hoping that it wouldn't leak through his white shirtsleeve. 

Yanking his sleeve down and jamming the knife back into the sheath and the sheath down the front of his shirt, Ethan opened the door. 

A sigh of relief escaped him as he realized Mark was no longer in front of the door. He had probably gotten bored after a few seconds and gone back to the editing room. 

Ethan lurched down the hallway, over to the counter, and slammed his hands down on it, breathing heavily. Quickly looking to make sure Mark and Amy were out of sight, he placed the sheath back where it had been not fifteen minutes prior. He hoped neither of them had noticed its disappearance. 

Now he had to go face them. 

Attempting to walk to the recording room proved to be extremely difficult. 

Ethan was so, so dizzy. He tried to think. When was the last time he ate? 

Oh. It was the day that he threw everything up. So three days had passed since he had taken in any calories at all. 

He was so light-headed and his stomach was aching. His feet weren't responding to him anymore.

He couldn't walk. His vision was fading out.   
Everything was disappearing from his sight. 

Ethan tried to lean against the wall, but he felt himself slipping. 

The last thing he remembered was the hardwood floor rushing up towards him and hearing a loud bang, the sound of thumping footsteps and concerned voices racing towards him, and a dull, thumping, throbbing pain all over, like a heartbeat, over and over as he slipped into darkness. 

\-----------------------------  
Ethan woke up laying on a couch. More specifically, Amy and Mark’s living room couch. 

He groaned and rubbed his head. Trying to sit up, a sudden wave of dizziness and pain overtook him, and he gasped in shock.

“Ethan’s awake,” called out Mark softly from the kitchen. 

Shit. Mark. 

Ethan looked up as he noticed Mark walking over to him. He crouched down in front of the couch at Ethan's eye level, hands on his knees. He didn't look happy. 

“So,” said Mark flatly.

“W-what happened?” Ethan was confused. The last thing he remembered was feeling dizzy and his vision going dark. 

“I could ask you the same thing. Wanna tell me what caused you to pass out in the middle of walking?” Mark’s tone wasn't angry, but Ethan could tell he was bothered. 

“I-I dunno, I mean I was just walking and then… the last thing I remember is being like super dizzy and then my vision started going dark… it was weird.” Ethan fiddled with his fingers, avoiding eye contact with Mark. 

“Ethan.” Mark grabbed Ethan’s chin and forced him to look into his eyes, sending a shudder down the younger’s spine. 

Mark's dark eyes looked...worried. Concerned. 

For him? Ethan wondered. 

Still looking into Ethan’s eyes, Mark asked him, “How do you think you got on the couch?” 

Oh. 

Ethan suddenly put the pieces together. He understood why Mark was so annoyed at him. 

“You must have carried me…” Ethan mumbled softly, and then continued with renowned speed. “I'm so, so sorry Mark. I'm so sorry! You hurt yourself carrying me, didn't you? I know I'm super heavy, I'm so sorry. I'm trying to lose weight but I've lost practically none, I swear I was trying to lose weight and look better and not be so heavy, I'm so sorry, you shouldn't have tried to carry me!” Ethan was close to tears at this point. 

Mark blinked and took a step back. “Wait. What?” Confusion was evident in his tone. 

Ethan curled up and turned away on the couch, tears falling openly from his eyes and his head buried in his hands. “I’m so sorry Mark, I’ll try harder, I knew you were disappointed in me for not being as in shape as you, I really was t-trying to lose weight!” He hiccuped and sobbed. 

“Ethan,” Mark intoned gently. 

Ethan turned away and hid his face more, stifling more sobs. 

“Ethan, look at me,” repeated Mark with more force. 

Ethan sniffled but didn't look. 

“Please.” Mark's voice didn't sound so disappointed anymore, he sounded… pitying? 

Finally, he lifted his head reluctantly to meet the older man’s gentle stare. 

Mark smiled sadly at him. “Eth, I'm not disappointed because you're heavy. I don't know where you got that idea,” 

Ethan opened his mouth to interrupt and protest, his stomach queasy, but Mark made the ‘let me finish’ gesture with his hand. 

“Quite the opposite, actually. I was carrying you and I realized… well… Eth, you're skin and bones. God, it's almost scary how much weight you've lost. You're 5’8 and probably weigh like 120. You're too light, Eth. It's scaring me.” Mark’s dark eyes exclaim concern and worry for Ethan as he steadily holds his gaze while talking. 

“Ethan, seriously. It's unhealthy. And you think you're heavy?! Did you… were you trying to… Do that to yourself?” Mark speaks uneasily. 

Ethan ducks his head. This is the moment where Mark will call him pathetic and ugly and disgusting. Where Mark will leave, and then Amy will leave, and he'll have nobody left in the world. 

“Y-yes,” he admits shamefully, not looking Mark in the eye. Ethan's ears and face burn, and he can tell he's about to start crying again. “I just… I feel so ugly. So disgusting, so fat and unathletic and worthless compared to you and I just hate everything about myself. I hate it.”

Mark's looking at him with an expression that breaks his heart. He looks so genuinely sad for Ethan that Ethan feels a twinge in his own heart. Guiltiness for doing this, for putting this burden on his friend. 

For several long moments, neither of them say anything, when suddenly Mark pulls Ethan into a hug. Ethan clings to him for as long as he can, only just realizing how much he misses physical human affection. 

When he pulls back, Mark's eyes are shiny. “Listen, Eth. It's going to be hard. This kind of thing always is. It's going to take some time. But this… I'm going to help you, okay? I'm going to help you get better. I’m going to help you love yourself.” 

Ethan’s heart twists. He loves Mark so much. He values their friendship . Yet he's so afraid that he'll open up to Mark and Mark will leave, just like countless other people in his past. Or that Mark is just pretending to want to help him. 

Holding him at arm's length and looking at him softly, Mark whispers, “ I want to help you. But you're going to have to let me help you, okay?” 

Ethan nods, sniffling and brushing away tears. 

He could get lost in Mark’s kind eyes. 

“Is there anything else that you've done to yourself that I should know about? It's important if you want to get better,” the older man says softly, still holding eye contact with Ethan. 

Ethan thinks about Mark’s knife, sitting on the kitchen counter.

He thinks about the blade in his phone case. 

He thinks about the eleven unused new blades sitting on his bed. 

He thinks about the harsh lines slashed into his left forearm, and the fresh ones on his upper arm. 

He thinks about the blood dripping onto the bathroom floor, as he sobs, not bothering to take care of the cuts. 

“Nope,” Ethan smiles shakily, and he knows it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter coming soon! please let me know what you guys thought of this one as well :) i really appreciate you all thank you so much. imo the first chapter is better but it was easier to write because i knew exactly where it was going as opposed to this one lol.


	3. Futile Devices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan is breaking. He can't hide it as well anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning! homophobic slurs, flashbacks, implied/referenced rape, purging, self-harm... this chapter especially has the potential to be very triggering so please don't read if you think it could trigger you! 
> 
> hey guys! sorry it took so long. i have to be honest, i'm going through one of the worst times of my life rn. not as bad as poor ethan here, but a lot of his stuff is based on my inner thoughts and actions. not that it's a good excuse, but it's really hard to find motivation to do...anything, really. i stay up all night and sleep all day and do nothing and my mental health is terrible. so i'm sorry. 
> 
> don't worry, though. i'm not going to give up on this fic. no matter what. :)
> 
> i intend to start updating either daily or every other day, depending on if i'm up to it. i don't want to try to make myself do it daily and end up losing inspiration, but i also know how it feels to have to wait forever for a fic to be updated. 
> 
> so! enough of me talking. again, this chapter in particular has a chance to be very triggering so please, read at your own discretion. eef goes through a pretty hard time here but we also get to see some niceness :) 
> 
> enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think!

Mark set the plate down in front of Ethan as he took his own seat on the other side of the table, eyeing him subtly as if to gauge his reaction. 

Ethan looked down at the food in front of him. Spaghetti and meatballs with red sauce and a side of garlic bread. 

The spaghetti sauce looked delicious, as did the meatballs. Ethan loved garlic bread, and Mark knew it. His stomach growled at the delicious smell. 

Ethan looked hesitantly up at Mark, who smiled faintly at him, then at Amy, who was sitting across from him, who gave him a comforting nod and a slight smile.

He looked back down at his plate in silence, taking a deep breath before picking up his fork. 

For the past week or so, ever since Mark found out about his “habit”, he had been having lunch every day with Mark and Amy after filming. At Mark’s insistence, of course. Mark said that he wanted to help Ethan and would do anything to help him get better. 

Ethan knew he was lying. 

He didn't really want to help Ethan, he just felt like it was his responsibility since they were friends. Which made no sense, because he knew Mark didn't even see him as a friend, just an annoying wannabe. So why did he seem to care so much? 

His chest constricted at the reminder. He didn't need to be reminded of the fact that he meant nothing to anyone, that everyone hated him. 

Sometimes he just wanted to curl up in the tiniest ball he could imagine, under his warm covers, with his mind blank as the world drifted by without him. 

He wanted to disappear, to retreat into himself, to stop returning phone calls or going anywhere or doing anything until he wasted away, decayed, and one day all that was left of him was slender bones and a grinning skull. 

Ethan was snapped back to reality at the sound of Mark and Amy’s forks clinking against their plates as they ate, conversing about the newest horror game Mark had played, where the player was a tentacled monster escaping a facility and killing the occupants. 

He was half listening as he stared down at the still-untouched pasta on his plate, wrapped halfway around his fork. It smelled so good… and he was so hungry. 

But.. he quickly scanned the plate. About a cup of spaghetti (400) , four meatballs (120), and a piece of garlic bread (90) . For a normal person, a totally reasonable lunch. 

But for Ethan? 

Six hundred and ten calories. 

Six hundred and ten.

SIX HUNDRED AND TEN CALORIES. 

Six hundred was basically a thousand, which might as well be 1,500, which might as well be two thousand. 

Two thousand calories?! He was eating two thousand calories? Oh, god, two thousand. He'd have to fast for at least a week, he was going to get so much fatter. He could feel himself getting slower, weighing more, becoming sluggish and disgusting. 

It felt like a vice was squeezing Ethan’s lungs. He silently struggled to breathe, trying not to attract Mark and Amy’s attention. 

He couldn't do this. He couldn't. 

Amy suddenly looked up at him in concern, seemingly having noticed his silence. 

“Eth, you okay?” she implored softly. Her chocolate brown eyes were filled with gentle concern, and Ethan’s heart swelled with love for his friend. 

Idiot. She's not your friend. She doesn't want to be your friend. 

Right. 

Ethan shook his head, clearing his thoughts. His head throbbed. 

“W-what? Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Her tone was so soft, like a mother soothing her child. “You haven't eaten anything.” For a second, Ethan felt like maybe she was actually concerned for him. 

His plate was untouched, save for the forkful of noodles he currently had raised halfway to his mouth. 

Shit. Somebody noticed. 

With an internal sob, he forced himself to eat and swallow the forkful of noodles he had been holding, for Amy’s sake. Mark eyed him carefully, saying nothing. 

Clearing his throat with an awkward cough and standing up quickly, he grabbed his plate. Black spots filled his vision, which he was quickly becoming accustomed to. 

“It’s great, I just- I’m gonna um, put some Parmesan cheese on it. Be right back.” He forced an awkward chuckle and speed walked back to the kitchen. 

Light conversation filled the other room again after a second, filling his ears as he slumped against the fridge in the kitchen, successfully out of sight of Mark and Amy’s careful stares. 

Ethan exhaled slowly, trying to force himself to calm down. Intrusive thoughts crept into his head as he tried to force them away. 

They don't like you, you know. You know that they just pity you, an annoying little boy. 

You're going to become even fatter now. 

He tried to take another deep breath. 

It's okay, it's okay. Calm down, Ethan. 

Opening his eyes, he allowed himself to take a moment to compose himself. He was reminded that Mark and Amy were still waiting for him by a loud burst of Mark’s laughter from the other room.

He walked over to the trash can and, making sure nobody was near, dumped almost three-quarters of his food into the can. Covering it up with the other items in the bin, his hands shook a bit. He was used to doing this. Way too used to doing this. 

Ethan shakily walked back into the dining room, trying to pretend like nothing had happened. His plate clinked loudly as he set it down clumsily on the table. He tried to avoid Mark’s eyes on him as his heart thumped loudly in his chest. 

He immediately started pushing the food on his plate around with his fork, avoiding eye contact with either of the other two occupants of the table. 

Suddenly, a burning sensation engulfed his whole left arm and Ethan yelped loudly in pain, clapping a hand over it and pressing down in an attempt to stop the horrible stinging and burning. 

Amy and Mark’s heads shot up. Amy stared at him in concern while Mark looked super confused. Ethan could practically see the wheels turning in his head, wondering what was going on. Shit. He had to make up an excuse, fast. 

“I-I'm so sorry guys, I keep getting cramps in my arm lately, I'm not s-sure what's going on.” Ethan internally prayed that Mark and Amy would buy it. 

That was one thing he had forgotten about since the last time he had self-harmed… the fact that healing cuts and even scars, no matter how old, would occasionally burn for a few seconds or minutes. It was hard to hide when it caught him off guard. 

Eyebrows furrowed, Mark ran a hand through his dark, floppy hair. “Are you sure, ba- Uhm, Eth? That looks like it really hurts.” His face flushed, and Ethan wasn't exactly sure why. 

Wait. Did Mark just call him…? 

Ethan's heart flipped, and he felt his face heat up. No, he must have imagined it. Amy didn't seem to have noticed his reaction; in fact, she was staring at Mark with a knowing look in her eye and a slight smile tugging at the side of her mouth. Ethan wondered what that was all about. 

He realized that Mark was probably waiting for his answer. “Uh, yeah. I- it's not a serious thing, just happens like maybe once a week? Nothing to be… nothing to be concerned about.” 

The few bites of pasta he had eaten churned in his stomach, and he suddenly realized what his body was telling him that he had to do. 

He jumped up and ran to the bathroom, Mark's expression of concern fading away in his mind as the only sound he heard was blood rushing and his own heavy breathing. Slamming the door shut and sliding down against it, his only thought was that he really had to stop doing this in poor Mark and Amy’s house. 

The cool tile hurt his knees as he weakly crawled over to the toilet. God, he felt so fat and ugly and disgusting. No wonder everyone hated him. He hated himself too. 

Images swam in his head. His own fat, clinging to his stubborn body. Hunger pangs stabbing his gut day after day, yet still not losing any weight. People laughing at him, telling him how pathetic and worthless he was. 

A sudden, jarring flash of memories that invaded his mind and made him retch over the toilet. His throat burned sickeningly with bile as he emptied his stomach. 

A cool hand, stroking his face soothingly as he sobbed violently. 

A soft voice. “It's okay. You're beautiful. You don't need to starve yourself or lose any weight.” 

A weak smile gracing his face as he felt love and adoration for the first time in a long time. 

Himself, laughing, an expression of pure joy, as he threw his arms around a pair of shoulders and nuzzled into a warm neck, feeling safe. 

Thumping music at a party, too loud, too bright. Whispering, “Can we go upstairs?” 

A warm, sweaty hand in his, leading him up a flight of stairs. 

A pair of lips on his, warm and soft. Electricity coursing through his veins. 

Hands wandering over his chest, down his sides. Leaning into the touch. 

Lips still on his, a single hand slipping down the front of his pants. 

Stiffening up, breaking the kiss. Softly saying, “I'm not ready for this… I've never done anything before.” 

An insistent pair of lips, on his again, even as he tried to pull back. Hands unbuttoning his jeans, pulling off his shirt. 

Struggling against the grip, being held down by the neck. He couldn't breathe. 

The sound of a zipper being unzipped and jeans falling to the floor. 

Muffled grunts and sounds of a struggle, pushing against the hands that held him down and touched him against his will. 

A sharp, stinging slap to the side of his face. “Shut up.” 

Whimpering, thrashing as hands prepared him to be violated. They burned white-hot on his skin. 

Lips capturing his again, no longer loving, but needy and painful. Biting, hurting him. 

Sudden pain down there as he realized he had been violated. Trying to hold in his scream, tears leaking from the sides of his eyes and dripping down his cheeks. 

The sudden slam of a door being swung wide open and a mixture of gasps from the other side of the room. 

Him being shoved away violently, falling off the bed. Sudden pain in his arm as he hit the ground. 

“Get off of me, you fucking faggot! Don't touch me!” 

Tears leaking from his eyes as he looked up at shell-shocked faces, slowly morphing into disgust and revulsion. 

The once loving, now harsh voice telling them that Ethan forced himself on him. That he tried to tell him he wasn't gay, but the smaller boy attacked him. 

Pain shooting through different parts of his body as he was thrown out, being punched and kicked violently. Words of utter loathing being spat at him, being called terrible names. 

A familiar figure approaching him a week later. Telling him how disgusting he was, that he was overweight and gross, that nobody would ever love him. 

Telling him to go starve himself and maybe he'd be worth something then, telling him to go slit his wrists, telling him to go kill himself. 

Telling him that he never loved him, that he couldn't believe Ethan had thought somebody might actually like him. Calling him a fucking pig. 

He rocked back and forth on the floor intensely, silent sobs racking his body, choking him, although he tried to keep it in. Clapping one hand over his mouth, hitting himself everywhere he could reach as hard as he could with the other. Reaching into his pocket, pulling out his phone, taking the blade out of the case. Fumbling to get his pants off, slicing everywhere he could reach, until his thighs were a bloody, torn up mess. Roughly pulling back up his pants, seeing blood soak faintly through them, not caring. Throwing the blade across the room as hard as he could, not caring where it landed. Shuddering, trembling, feeling so frail, feeling so broken. Coughing frenziedly, almost choking on his spit. 

He felt like nothing was ever going to be right again. He felt like part of him was gone, like he would never come back. He wished he was dead. 

He wished he had listened and killed himself. 

Eventually, the sobs died down and the rocking slowed. His breath became deeper and slower. He felt drained, yet calm. 

His eyes stung and his cheeks were stiff from dried tears. Under his pants, his thighs burned. Standing up, wobbling a bit, he made it over to the mirror and observed his reflection. 

God, he looked like a mess. 

His face was all red and blotchy. His eyes were very red, the bright green of his irises a shocking contrast. They looked glassy with shed tears and emptiness. Dried blood stained his fingertips and his shirt was wet with tears. 

Sighing gently, Ethan washed his hands with warm water and rubbed them over his face with a shaky breath. The warm water soothed his skin. 

He knew he had to face Mark and Amy now. He had been in the bathroom for probably close to an hour. But he was just so tired. 

Ethan couldn’t think of an excuse. He felt empty. So he just walked out of the bathroom, knowing full well they would be able to tell that he was crying. 

The sound of heavy rain and a rumble of thunder washed over him as he walked into the cool hallway that he had walked through so many times before. Lightning flashed before a loud boom rattled the windows and lights. The house was chilly, and the hardwood floor numbed his bare feet. 

Two heads turned around to look at him from the couch. Mark laughed.

“Dude, are you okay? I figured you were just taking a really big-” 

His voice wavered and cut off as he took in the sight of Ethan. Ethan knew how bad he looked. He knew. 

The older man’s face immediately fell and a look of pity and softness came into his eyes. “Eth, baby? Are you okay?” The name instinctively flew out of his mouth. 

There it was again. Baby. But Ethan was too worn-out to think it over. He simply shook his head. He felt so broken. Numb. Like he was just a shell, a reanimated corpse, alive but with no mind, no memories, no emotions. 

Amy stood up and took his hand. Hers was warm and soft. She looked slightly up at him with eyes that were sympathetic. 

And then Amy was hugging him, a tender pressure around his midsection. His heart softened and he squeezed her. Ethan never wanted to let go. It had been so long since anyone had hugged him… given him basic human affection. His eyes drifted shut and he enjoyed the warm contact. 

Then it was gone, her hand pulling him over to the couch and sitting him down next to Mark. He drifted, not resisting the physical movement. He still felt blank. 

He looked at Mark, who had a strange look about him. Ethan couldn't quite pinpoint it. It was the way you’d look at a tiny, trusting puppy nudging at your hand, mixed with the way he used to look at Amy sometimes, a long time ago. But that made no sense.. he wasn't Amy. 

Before he could think about it too much, Mark took him by the shoulders and gently laid him down in his warm lap. Rumbles of thunder resounded around the room as Amy disappeared into the kitchen, but Ethan had never felt safer.

He didn't resist Mark moving him, finding himself gazing with a glazed stare up at Mark's face, who was now looking down at him fondly. He looked so beautiful. So warm, so sweet. He loved Mark. 

The thought popped into his head. He loved Mark. He had always known that he loved Mark as a friend, like the way he loved sweet, caring Amy. But… this was different. A different kind of love that he couldn't put his finger on. 

Ethan faintly registered Mark's lips moving gently. “You're going to stay here with us tonight, Eth. Go to sleep, it's okay. I'm here.” 

Everything was muted. Amy set down cups on the coffee table and sat on the couch next to Mark, discussing something softly with him. Ethan felt the dreamy, underwater feeling, where one can recognize the sounds of speaking, but not the words. 

He knew faintly that he would be embarrassed come morning, or whenever he snapped out of the trance he was in. Yet now, all he could focus on was Mark’s hands moving softly through his hair, the muted soft tones of the two people he loved most in the world. 

Ethan let his eyes drift closed. The beautiful lyrics of a song he loved, “Futile Devices” began to drift through his head as his breathing slowed. 

It's been a long, long time,

Since I've memorized your face,

Mark's face filled his head. His crinkling eyes, his heartwarming smile. The way he looked at Ethan when he was proud of him. 

It's been four hours now, 

Since I've wandered through your place,

Memories of him and Mark laughing together. Joy filling his heart, feeling so free and amazing and like nothing could ever go wrong in the world. The first time he met Mark at the PAX convention, where he was just the ‘backflip kid’. Being asked to be his editor. Slowly appearing in more and more of Mark’s videos. Unus Annus. 

And when I sleep on your couch, I feel very safe, 

And when you bring the blankets,

I cover up my face, 

Mark, telling him that he wanted to help him. The look in his eyes when he called Ethan “baby”.

I do love you,

I do love you,

Floppy dark hair, stubble, and the prettiest dark brown eyes that melted his heart. 

…

And I would say I love you,

But saying it out loud is hard,

Late nights alone, in his bed, wanting to sob. Mark's face filling his mind, a smile tugging at his mouth at the thought. 

So I won't say it at all,

And I won't stay very long,

The rare moments of feeling like Mark might actually like him...like he might return his feelings. How safe he felt in Mark's arms. 

But you are the life I needed all along…

As sleep pulled heavy at his mind, he thought he heard Mark’s low, soothing voice mumbling softly through the darkness. 

...And words are futile devices.

“I love you, Ethan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song at the end is one of my favorites! it's "Futile Devices" by Sufjan Stevens. it's one of those songs that kind of makes your heart ache for something you've never had, you know? 
> 
> anyways, that was chapter three! thank you so much for reading, i really appreciate it. not to be arrogant, but i kind of like this chapter! to clarify, i don't have an eating disorder (i've had some pretty disordered eating in the past, not to self diagnose or anything), so i really hope i'm getting it right. if you guys have any suggestions or criticisms to let me know how to improve or if there's something you want to see, please let me know! sorry for the long note, have a great day :)


	4. A Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan has a talk with Amy following his ordeal, and learns something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo boy, this chapter is really...all over the place. i hope it makes sense. 
> 
> i am so so sorry for waiting FIVE WHOLE DAYS to update. it really didn't seem like it had been that long, it's just.. every time i went to start typing the chapter i would lose all motivation. tbh i really only write when i'm in sad moods and i guess that's the biggest reason why i finally got motivated to finish the chapter that was only about 1/6 of the way done a few hours ago. 
> 
> anyways, i know apologizing doesn't really fix anything. i've learned that promising to upload and write at certain times just gives me less motivation and more stress, sooo... i can't PROMISE that i'm going to upload every other day/every other third day at least, but i'm definitely going to try harder. 
> 
> anyways, get on with the chapter!

Ethan woke up with a pounding headache and an aching heart. 

His eyes felt puffy and tender, and he winced at the feeling as he sat up slowly on the couch. 

Wait, the couch? Why wasn't he in his bed? 

Oh, no. Suddenly, the events of yesterday came flooding back into his head. His breakdown in the bathroom. Mark and Amy comforting him. His interesting revelation as he had drifted off to sleep- no, he pushed that memory away. He'd deal with that later. 

So many emotions washed over Ethan at once. Sadness, guilt, hopelessness, embarrassment, and most of all, shame. Shame at what he had done to Mark and Amy. Shame at how he had forced them to take on the burden of his mental health. Shame at how he had just agreed to stay the night, not even arguing or insisting that he would be fine. He was so selfish. Mark and Amy hadn't wanted him there. What had he been thinking? 

Why would he have ever been welcome? He had never been welcome. From the very beginning, he felt as if no one wanted him around, as if everyone was just hanging around him out of pity, hoping he'd take their hints and just leave. But he was so clingy, he had just tried so desperately to stay connected to Mark and now he was paying the price. Paying the price by feeling his heart ache just a little more and more each time he saw Mark, by wondering each time he spoke to Amy what horrible things she was thinking about him. He had allowed himself to get attached, allowed himself to harbor a tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, he was important to someone in the world. 

Foolish. 

The sound of gentle footsteps approaching him shook Ethan out of his stupor, and he looked up shamefully as Amy looked down at him, the familiar look of pity prominent on her soft features.

“Amy, I’m so s-” he began, but was quickly cut off by her, for once. 

“Ethan. I need you to listen to me, okay?” Her words were calm, but her tone held emotions Ethan couldn't quite place, which did nothing to soothe the twisting of his stomach. 

Nodding tightly, he forced himself to swallow and listen to Amy as she spoke. 

“Mark and I have been talking about a.. few things.. and we think it would be helpful for all three of us if you would stay with us for a little while.”

Ethan felt dazed. What? That was not what he was expecting for her to say. 

Amy continued slowly. “We want what's best for you and to be honest, we’re a little concerned for you based on what’s been going on the past few days.” 

Ethan’s cuts from the afternoon before burned under his jeans, reminding him of his guilt. He felt his fingers twitch nervously and a tightening sensation slowly spread throughout his chest. 

He didn't want to intrude on Mark and Amy, or make them feel like they had to take care of him. In fact, he was beginning to belittle himself for even letting them notice that something was going on with him. Reaching up to nervously twist a short lock of hair from the nape of his neck around his fingers, Ethan tried to think of how he was going to get himself out of the situation.

“I just..i-I don’t want to, um,” he paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. “I don't want to, like, intrude on you guys. You've always been so nice to me, and I don't want to be a burden on you by making you feel like you have to take me in. Besides, I'll be fine on my own, really, I mean, there's nothing going on, I can take care of myself, I wouldn't want you guys to worry about me...” 

Ethan knew he was rambling as he began to speak faster and faster, his mouth racing to keep up with his mind. “It would be selfish to make you worry w-when there’s nothing even wrong. I've just been having a bad week, that's all, it's really nothing to get concerned about, I just need a few days to myself to get everything together, and then I'll be fine, there's really no need to worry about me-” 

A warm hand placed on his knee snapped him out of his rant, and Ethan’s head jerked up to meet Amy's dark eyes. Shame burned bright on his face, his skin reddening as he instantly regretted oversharing and annoying his friend. 

As if she knew what he was thinking, Amy leaned forward suddenly and hugged him, silencing his racing thoughts. Although Ethan stiffened at first, unused to people hugging him after such a long time, he relaxed into the warm, comforting embrace a moment later. Amy had such soothing instincts, he thought vaguely as he breathed deeply and savored the brief human contact. His mind slowed down, becoming a bit blurry and out of focus. Ethan wanted to lay down, to be surrounded by the comforting warmth of people, of friends, of loved ones, forever and ever, and never get up. 

As with all good things, unfortunately, it had to end. Ethan pulled back a bit awkwardly, in fear of looking creepy. 

God, she probably thinks you're a total creep. Nice going, fucking pervert. 

But I don't like Amy like that! It’s Mark that I-

Oh, shit. 

Mark. 

Ethan had just come very, very close to admitting to himself what feelings he really had. He suddenly felt sick. 

Why would anyone like a disgusting thing like you? 

Memories creeped in. 

Remember what happened to you in high school? You deserved it, you pathetic little boy. 

That's the only thing you're good for. Being used like a little fucking slut. You're just an object, only for making other people happy. What you want doesn't matter. 

He had the sudden urge to get up, to run into the room where Mark was no doubt recording a new video, and get on his knees and beg in front of the older man. To see Mark’s dumbfounded expression as Ethan begged him, tears streaming down his face, to take him, use him for whatever he wanted, to do anything just to make himself happy and make use of Ethan like an object. Ethan imagined himself sobbing and choking and gasping for air as he was roughly shoved around and exploited for the only thing he could offer: his body. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

Why was he suddenly so hypersexual? A sudden wave of disgust and nausea rolled over him. He was revolted by his own thoughts. What was wrong with him? His friend wanted nothing to do with him that way. Ethan would never just throw himself at someone like that. 

Ethan often had intrusive thoughts, but this was one of times when he truly was disgusted by the things his mentally ill brain came up with. Horrible scenarios or things he could do would play out in his head, and he had sudden urges to do them. He always resisted, of course. Ethan Nestor would never do something as awful as veer into incoming traffic and killing multiple other drivers, or taking the knife he was chopping onions with and stab himself through the eye with it. So why did his brain seem to think that he wanted to do these things? 

Lost in thought, Ethan didn't notice Amy was staring at him with a frown until she waved a hand in front of his face. Startled, he jumped a bit and blinked before realizing how long it had probably been since he had responded. What had she been talking about? Oh, right. She had hugged him, and Ethan had pulled back awkwardly in fear of looking creepy. Then he had gone down the train of thought…

“Thank you,” Ethan breathed out shakily. His muscles were relaxed from the hug, and he felt calmer, although his mind was still racing a bit. 

God, Amy was such a good friend. She was so sweet, so kind and caring, and she seemed to see down into the depths of his soul and realize things that he himself didn't. She and Mark really did deserve each other.. No wonder he felt so selfish for wanting Mark. 

His eye twitched. He didn't want Mark. He didn't. He didn't want to hug him for hours on end, sinking into his large, warm arms and feeling safer than ever. He didn't want to wake up in the morning, and see golden light silently streaming over the peaceful sleeping face of his best friend. He didn't want to know what it felt like to kiss him, to hold him close, to- 

Ethan felt the beginning of a blush color his cheeks and ears a faint pink, and his heart fluttered in his chest. 

Then a vice gripped and squeezed his heart, crushing his slight hope like a butterfly under the shoe of a cruel child. Because when he looked up, he caught the eye of Amy, his wonderful, beautiful, amazing friend, who was dating the man he was completely in love with. 

Tightness grasped his lungs and sudden tears blurred his vision. Trying desperately not to blink and let them slip down his cheeks, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand and resisted the urge to sniffle. 

Amy didn't seem to notice. Brushing back a piece of dark hair from her face, she smiled sweetly and sadly at Ethan. He thought he saw a glimpse of something protective deep in her bottomless eyes, and his heart swelled again, although crushing guilt and sadness still gripped him. He loved Amy, one of his best friends, with all his heart. He never wanted to do anything to hurt her. Which was why he would never pursue Mark, even if it shattered his own heart at the thought. 

“A-Amy?” Ethan questioned nervously. 

She looked back at him, seemingly having been lost in thought a million miles away. “Yes, Eth?” Her warm hand gripped Ethan’s comfortingly and held it in her lap, stroking absentmindedly with her other hand as she gazed quizzically at him. 

“If I stay with you guys..just for a little while.. where will I sleep? You guys only really have the..the one bed.” The tremor in Ethan’s voice betrayed his stress over the one small question. Why was he so worked up?, he wondered. His stomach twisted unpleasantly. 

That didn't seem to be the question Amy was anticipating, although Ethan wasn't quite sure which one she was. Surprise, consideration, recognition, and… what seemed to be an odd split-second of mischief danced over Amy's expressive features as she thought about the question for a few seconds. 

“If that's what you're worried about, Eth, I hope you know that you shouldn’t be,” she said placidly. Another glint of mischief sparkled in her eye as she added, “We bought an air mattress so that we could both sleep alone after the breakup. We both take turns normally, but you and Mark can share the king bed and I’ll take the blowup bed.” 

Ethan nodded slowly, his mind going over what Amy had just said. Then, his mind reeled as he caught up, and he felt like he had just had the wind knocked out of him. 

“Wait, what?!” Ethan fought to get out, his head spinning and his whole world upside down. Amy had an impish smirk as she looked him in the eye. 

“Yeah, didn't you know? We broke up a few months ago…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wOaHhH plot twist at the end that totally nobody saw coming at all! lol that part was kinda fun to write.
> 
> this chapter is a bit all over the place because i was trying to string together some of ethan's irrational thoughts with the sudden memories from last chapter, so i really hope it makes sense. 
> 
> thanks for all the comments and kudos! they really make my day and it makes me so happy that you guys enjoy reading something i wrote <3


	5. Emotional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan wants to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! 
> 
> sorry it took so long to update again. this chapter has some mild NSFW mentions near the end, sorry if it's gross. 
> 
> this is kinda a short chapter, only something like 1,850 words, so sorry about that. even though it has been a while since i updated and it doesn't seem like it, it's a little easier to make shorter chapters cause it doesn't feel like so much is happening.

Ethan blinked rapidly as a wave of emotions crashed over him. 

Amy and Mark broke up? They had been broken up for...months now? 

Cool, cool. That was cool. It didn't affect him, so why was his heart racing so fast? And why did he feel a small jolt of excitement at the thought. 

Idiot. He'd never want you anyways. Just because he's free now, doesn't mean he would like you. Did you forget how repulsive you are? 

Right. Ethan tried to shake the thoughts away as tears started to well up in his eyes. 

“I'm...sorry?” It came out like more of a question, although Ethan wasn't sure whether he was supposed to be sad for Amy or pretend like it was no big deal. 

Amy shrugged lightheartedly. “I mean, don't be. I was a little upset at first.. but like, it doesn't bother me anymore.” 

He didn't know if he should ask what happened or if that would be rude, but Amy answered that question for him, seemingly picking up on it. 

“Mark is..complicated. You know the concept of soulmates? I think there's more than one type. Romantic and platonic, as in, a friendship that's meant to be. Mark and I are like that. I think he already had a romantic soulmate when I met him,” she smiled a bit sadly. Her eyes flickered, seemingly remembering something as emotions Ethan couldn't read swept over her face. 

She looked back at him after a few seconds. “You know?” 

Ethan swallowed and thought about it. He guessed that he did know, but he genuinely wasn't sure what Amy was talking about. Mark already had a romantic soulmate? One that was even better for him than Amy? He wondered with a small twinge of jealousy who it could be.

He shook his head to get the thoughts out. Amy was probably sad, and since she was his friend it was his job to comfort her. 

“Yeah, I think so. Are… are you okay? Do you wanna talk about it?” 

She looked at him a moment longer, expression unreadable. “No, thanks. I just think he should pursue the person that he's in love with.” 

What a strange thing to say, Ethan thought. He fiddled with his hands awkwardly for a moment, not knowing how to respond. His wrists suddenly ached, and he was filled with the urge to feel warm blood dripping down his arms, to feel the stinging pain that hurt so good, to feel endorphins wash over him, helping him feel something for a few minutes, even if it was just his body's natural response to pain. 

Swallowing hard, he stood up quickly, the familiar dark spots clouding his vision and causing him to stumble a bit. Amy looked up at him, seemingly surprised at his sudden apparent departure. 

“I-I have to go home. I just remembered there's something I have to do.” The most cliche excuse ever, but Amy seemed to buy it. 

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, but we weren't done talking about you staying with-” 

Ethan cut her off. “I- we can talk about it tomorrow. Do you know where Mark is?” So many different feelings were battling in his heart and he didn't know how to feel at the moment. He was exhausted. 

Amy still looked surprised, but regained her composure quickly. “Um, he’s in the recording room I think..” 

Nodding and forcing a fake smile, Ethan walked quickly upstairs to Mark's recording room. Taking a quick breath before turning the doorknob, he stepped into the room. 

Mark was playing some horror game, laughing at a joke he had probably made, the lights of his recording room washing softly over his face. Emotion ripped through him suddenly, one after the other before he could identify them, and his heart stung sharply for a moment. 

Biting his dry lips, Ethan cleared his throat. “Mark?” 

The older man turned around quickly, clearly not having heard Ethan come in. His shoulders relaxed when he saw who it was. Turning back to his computer, he mumbled a quick, “Edit this part out,” before standing up and walking over to Ethan. 

“Hey Ethan, what’s up? Are you oka-”

He was cut off by a fierce hug from Ethan. The warm, muscle-bound body of his taller friend just felt so real in Ethan’s arms that he had to stifle a sob. When he pulled back, Mark looked concerned and a bit sad. 

“What's going on?” he asked softly, which was unusual for Mark. Usually he would make some stupid joke or make fun of him for being emotional. 

Ethan knew his eyes were glassy with unshed tears and his face was vulnerable as he looked up at his friend, still holding him at arm’s length. 

“I have to go. T-thank you for.. everything,” he managed to choke out, fighting to hold back the warm tears that threatened to leak out of his eyes. 

Mark looked a bit perplexed, and laughed softly. “That- sounds like a goodbye or something. Are you okay?” 

No, Mark. No, I'm not okay. I hate myself so much. I have almost no motivation to do anything anymore. My stomach is always aching and crying for food, and yet I'm still not skinny. I'm ruining my body, no one is ever going to love me when I have scars everywhere. It hurts so bad. Everything is so overwhelming. And you don't even seem to notice.

Instead of saying it, he just cast his eyes downwards. He couldn't make eye contact, or he knew he would break, the fragile dam holding back his feelings shattering completely. He would not let Mark see that. 

“I’m….. fine. I just have to go.” He turned on his heel, forcing himself to let go of Mark, his heart screaming out for his friend and knowing the exact dumbfounded expression that was undoubtedly still on his face as he stood there. 

Half-walking, half-running down the hallway and the stairs, Ethan waved a quick goodbye to Amy as he fumbled with the lock on the front door. He shut it behind him and quickly got into his car, taking a deep breath for a moment to try to calm his racing thoughts. 

He saw Mark, looking down at him with soft emotion in his eyes. It was quickly replaced by visions of fresh crimson blood running down his arms, which in turn was replaced by Amy’s glinting eyes as she told him she and Mark had split. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. So many jumbled thoughts and feeling crowed his head and heart, and he was starting to feel overwhelmed. 

His thighs burned momentarily as his pants rubbed against the cuts from yesterday, and his stomach growled. Ethan felt like a mess. 

He turned the car on, just wanting to get home and sleep. He was physically and emotionally exhausted. 

Guilt filled him for a moment. Why was Ethan so tired? After all, he had done nothing that day but be a burden on his friends. A heavy sinking feeling weighed on him as he thought back on how annoying he must have been. Almost crying in front of Mark, falling asleep on their couch, having an almost-breakdown on their couch. He was not going to let that happen again. 

Ethan drove home in silence, feeling empty. The rush of thoughts filling his head had disappeared, replaced by a heavy yet comforting fog. He had the feeling of the aftermath of crying for a long time; his eyes felt puffy and stung, his cheeks stiff with dried tears, and an inexplicable heaviness weighing on his heart. His head was pounding a bit. He was so tired. 

When he got home, Ethan walked through his home in a daze until he collapsed in his bed. He wanted to sleep, but he had such a deep urge to cut himself that he had to do it first. Rolling over, he flipped down his phone case and deftly took out the small blade. He lazily slashed it down his arm, frowning a bit when only a small cut appeared. That wouldn't do. 

He sat up with a bit of restored vigor and grabbed the pack of disposable razors and the pen still sitting on his nightstand. Snapping off the handle of one of the cheap razors, he quickly disassembled the razor. A momentary flash of pride, then slight sadness at being able to take apart the blade so fast, filled him, then dissipated. 

Ethan gazed down at the silver blade in his fingers, head still empty and dull. Taking it in his fingers, he sliced his forearm hard and fast, and a small smile tugged at his lips as blood welled up.

A few feet away on the sheets, his phone buzzed with a call from Mark. Ethan didn't even glance at it, instead slashing more and more thin red lines and slightly thicker white ones onto his left arm. A bit of sick, twisted pleasure filled him at the blood dripping down and the knowledge that scars would soon form. 

He placed the small piece of metal on his bedside table. Heaving himself up with a sigh, he slowly shuffled over to his closet and pulled off his clothes. Ethan pulled a large hoodie over his head and got back in his bed, feeling the blood seep into the sleeve and not really caring. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling empty. 

He wasn't bored per se, but he felt like he should be doing something. Stretching to reach his phone, he turned it on and settled back. Ignoring the notification from Mark, he idly opened the Safari app and went incognito. Ethan didn’t jerk off because he was horny, he jerked off because the dopamine was one of the few things that made him feel anything anymore. 

He lazily used one hand, zoning out a bit, still not bored but not really paying attention. He finished, and yet was disappointed. Only the slightest bit of calm and peace that was supposed to be brought to him with the activity was present. Ethan was disappointed, and as he pulled his hand out from under the covers, he curled into a fetal position, gazing blankly at the wall. 

Late-afternoon sunlight turned to shadows, and he drifted fitfully to sleep. He dreamed of nothing, and when he woke up he went back to sleep again. He didn't want to be awake anymore. Being awake was so hard, so tiring. Everyone expected so much out of him. Ethan just wanted to sleep the day away so that he didn't have to live his life. 

He wasn't sure how much time had passed. Maybe a few days? All he knew was that he spent his time staring glassy-eyed at various things around the room, not interested in anything. Not getting up, not going to eat, not even having the willpower to hurt himself again. 

Ethan felt empty again. He could tell this time it was going to be a lot worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is kinda boring! i have a bunch of things planned for the next few ones, just trying to figure out how to incorporate a reasonable sequence of events so i'm not moving so fast. 
> 
> just realized while i was writing this that the more recent chapters don't really line up with the first few... i'm so sorry i'm trying to make it make sense lol
> 
> thank you so much for those of you who leave kudos, comment, or just read my dumb fanfic! you guys make my day, i'm sorry i take so long to make content for you, it's so hard to believe that people actually like stuff i make! so thank you! i hope you guys like it <3
> 
> also i know this chapter ends a bit suddenly, tbh i'm so so tired and i just want to sleep, so i stopped writing here. love y'all


	6. Rapid Decay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan is deteriorating rapidly, all alone in his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! back at it again with another chapter. all the usual trigger warnings, so be careful please. 
> 
> classes start tomorrow (well, technically today), so it might be a little longer between updates, but considering that you guys are already waiting because you're so lovely and patient :), i doubt it will be that much longer. speaking of classes, i have to wake up at 6:45 for them and it's currently 3 AM... oops. i just wanted to get this chapter out lol
> 
> anyways, have fun with this chapter! things get... strange.

Ethan knew he should get up, go eat some food, go outside and get some sunshine. But he felt so...numb. It was like the world was passing him by, like he wasn't living anymore, just alive. He didn't want to live. He hated the constant anxiety, the mood swings, the numbness and the sudden cascades of heavy emotions that followed, how one day he could be doing better and the next day he would sink down so low. 

That was one of the things he hated the most, he thought. The way that sometimes he thought he was doing great, how some days he would laugh and smile and feel pure joy and feel like the sadness was behind him. And then without warning, the next day would be awful. He would have no motivation, no drive, he would just feel like an empty shell of a person again. Like he wasn't even human. 

Ethan resented that feeling. 

His head pounded and his stomach groaned. He knew that he should probably go drink some water and eat some food. It had been what, two or three days since he had been out of bed? It was hard to tell, hard to keep track of time. His phone buzzed occasionally, probably Mark wondering where he was so that they could film for Unus Annus, but he had no mental energy to answer. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he should answer Mark, or the older man might start to get worried about where he was. 

He doesn't really care about you, though. He just wants you as content for videos. All you are to him is a tool to help him succeed. 

Those were the type of thoughts that convinced him that there was no reason for Mark to be worried about him. After all, he didn't truly care about Ethan’s well-being. 

Memories flashed through his head, of Mark’s concerned face, his deep, gravelly voice telling Ethan that he cared about him, that he wanted to help him eat, that he wanted to help him get better. 

Ethan scoffed internally at the thought. Yeah, that worked out great, for what, a week? He knew it wasn't Mark’s fault that he had snuck around behind his back to avoid eating or gaining calories. He was just trying to find any reason he could not to trust someone, to blame them, to convince himself that they were a bad person, so that it wouldn't hurt as much when they eventually left him. 

Guilt seeped into his heart and it felt heavy. Mark was an amazing person. He was a great friend, he was selfless and caring, and he loved his friends and family. 

He just didn't love Ethan. Sure, he treated Ethan with the utmost care, and really seemed to genuinely care about him, and was so kind when he wasn't doing well. But Ethan wouldn't allow himself to think that maybe Mark might actually love him, in a platonic way or anything else. If he let himself believe that someone actually loved him and wanted him around, he was just going to get more hurt when they unfailingly decided that he was disgusting and annoying and too clingy. 

The last time he trusted someone like that.. Well, he remembered how it had turned out. Goosebumps ran up and down his body as he remembered brief snippets. 

The thumping bass of a party. 

Hands crawling over his body in the upstairs bedroom. 

Hot tears running down his face as he screamed into the hand covering his mouth, “No, no, no,”

Sudden pain shooting through his body as he was shoved away, the faint sound of a door slamming open and a symphony of startled gasps echoing in his ears. 

The harsh sounds of that horrible word he hated, being slung at him, as if Ethan was the one trying to take advantage of him. 

Shame and ridicule filling his body as he sobbed into his pillow alone at night, his parents clueless of what was going on with their son. 

Ethan didn't realize he was crying until he shifted his head and the pillow under his face was damp. He hated reliving those memories, yet they always seemed to torture him sooner or later, buried somewhere under his subconscious. 

Why was he so upset? Why was he always tormented by life, his happy persona being ripped away so cruelly at random, never knowing when to expect the numbness or overwhelming emotions that overtook him. 

A quote he had heard in some movie popped into his head; “When you least expect it, nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spot.” Ethan wondered how often nature was going to find his weak spots. How often was he going to be ripped apart and sewn back together, revived and killed over and over again? He wasn't sure he could take it much longer, the horrible anguish of everyday life. 

Another, more depressing thought seized him. He was going to be like this forever. Forever and ever, his diseased brain was going to punish him, by giving him a small semblance of hope and happiness and cruelly taking it away so quickly. Despair filled his soul. Forever? Forever. For the rest of his life, every day, every minute, every second, he was going to have to deal with this, he was going to be in such miserable suffering. Why did he even bother? What was the point of life? Why did he exist?

It wasn't fair, he thought. It was like he was running a race, except everyone else around him was doing fine, and he was strapped to several bags of heavy weights. Surely nobody would expect a normal person to keep up if they were at such a disadvantage. But it was like nobody else saw what was going on. They saw him as a normal person, with nothing holding him down, so of course Ethan was expected to be able to run the race with no difficulties. Nobody else could see what was weighing him down, heavier and heavier with each step, and all the while he was being screamed at to run faster. He wanted to scream, “But I’m not normal! I'm not doing okay! Please, someone help!” Yet nobody would come, nobody would help him. He was alone. 

He felt shattered with the soul-crushing weight of being totally and utterly alone. Not a person in the world cared that he was alive, not one person would mind if he died. 

Sure, his family might be sad for a few days if they heard of his passing. But they would get over it. Just like everyone else, they would forget about him. He had no friends that cared about him. Mark and Amy might- 

No. Ethan refused to let himself finish that thought. They don't care about you, he thought firmly. 

With sudden strength, Ethan rolled over and off the bed. He stood up and immediately crumpled to the floor. After a few days of malnutrition and disuse, his muscles were too weak to support him so suddenly. 

Taking a deep breath, Ethan stood back up carefully on wobbly legs. He felt his stomach churn and growl, pain wrecking his lower abdomen, and winced. How long had it been since he had eaten? It didn't matter. Now that he was home, all by himself, with no Mark around, he could punish himself the way he deserved. He could go days without eating, enjoying the empty feeling his stomach had when he withheld food from it. Although his body cried out feebly, Ethan found a sort of sadistic and masochistic joy in seeing how much pain he could cause himself. 

It was like a punishment that he deserved. He deserved the worst. A small smile tugged at his mouth, although it wasn't of happiness. Rather, a bittersweet, twisted sense of pride at intentionally making things harder for himself. It didn't make much sense, thought Ethan. He was complaining about how difficult everything was and yet trying to make his life harder? 

Muffled whispering filled his ears. Ethan looked around a bit frantically. Where was it coming from? 

The whispers had a sort of snakelike quality. A snake? Was there a snake in his house? Yes, that must be it. 

He hobbled to the door and opened it with some difficulty. Looking carefully out into the hallway, he deduced that the snake wasn't there. It must be taunting him. Like a fun game! Ethan heard the whispering of the snake again, and whipped around. Nothing. 

It stopped and started again. Ethan dropped to his knees to look under the bed, wincing as black spots swam in his line of sight. He waited a moment for them to go away like they usually did, but this time they didn't. His vision was all staticky, like an old TV. His head throbbed, sending sharp pulses of pain through his skull. I should probably take some pain medicine, thought Ethan. 

But first, I have to find this stupid snake. 

He tried his best to look around his room with his limited vision and barely-there muscle strength. The whispering was back, but it didn't go away. This time, it was joined by a shuffling sound, and a whining that got louder and louder, painfully loud, until he clapped his hands over his ears with a yelp and curled into a ball, praying for it to stop. He couldn't hear himself think. 

Then, it all stopped. Ethan blinked and opened his eyes. His vision was still hazy and his head was pounding. But the sounds were gone. The shuffling, the whining, the snake- 

Wait a second. Snakes couldn't talk. Was he stupid? What was he thinking? 

A sudden moment of clarity washed over Ethan, and he panicked a bit. He was a little concerned for himself. Just moments ago, he had wholeheartedly believed that there was a real, talking snake in his house. 

The noise was gone now, whatever it was. Wait. Was it even… real? Was it possible that Ethan had imagined it?

No. No, he wasn't having hallucinations. Ethan could not be having hallucinations, because hallucinations were for people who were crazy, who had serious mental disorders, not for people like Ethan who were just overreacting to the simple ways of life. He was fine. There was nothing wrong with him. He was perfectly normal, just a bit stressed. Nothing he couldn't handle. 

Ethan took a deep, shaky breath and tried to calm himself down. Slowly, he managed to get to his feet and make it out into the hallway, leaning on the wall the entire way. He needed to eat, to take care of himself at least a little bit and then he could figure out what he was going to do from there. 

He made it to his kitchen, slumping over the counter and breathing a bit heavily from the effort. First things first, thought Ethan, I need to get some water. With shaky hands, he got a glass and filled it with water from the fridge. The cold, refreshing water had never tasted so good to the slightly delirious boy. He gulped it down and clumsily set the glass down on the counter, dangerously close to the edge, and brought his face into his hands as he half-leaned, half-braced himself on the counter. 

Ethan’s head still spun, although his throat no longer felt so dry. The water sloshed in his empty stomach, and gurgled unpleasantly. 

What was he going to do? He couldn't go back to Mark in this state. He couldn't let his friends see him like this. Ethan had to prove that he was strong by himself, that he wasn't so weak and pathetic that he had to rely on other people all the time. 

Another sudden wave of dizziness overtook him, and he collapsed against the counter with a pained groan. The sudden sharp sound of his glass smashing against the floor reverberated around the silent, empty house, and Ethan looked down to see dozens of tiny, glinting, razor-sharp shards of glass spread all out across his kitchen floor. 

“Shit.” 

With another pained groan, he bent down to look closely at what had happened. The glittering, beautifully dangerous glass was everywhere.

Hazily, Ethan attempted to sweep the glass into a small pile using his hands. Sudden sharp, stinging pain overtook his hands, and he looked blankly down at his fingers, not understanding what had just happened. 

It took him a few moments to realize that the intense pain and crimson liquid gushing out of his hands was because of the tiny shards of glass now embedded in them. 

Ethan stood up and walked over to the bathroom. He registered a sudden pain in his feet as well, and upon closer inspection, he was leaving red footprints. 

He concluded that there was glass now stuck in his feet as well. 

Washing his hands in the sink, Ethan watched dully, as if he wasn't in his own body, as the pink-tinted water washed away the blood. He noted with no emotion the stinging pain in his hands and feet, and the burning as he attempted to pick the pieces of glass out of his hands. 

I should take a shower, thought Ethan. 

He walked back into the living room, ignoring the screaming soles of his feet. Eyes focused on the broom propped against the side of the counter. 

As he reached to grab it, it disappeared. 

Ethan blinked slowly. He could've sworn there was just a broom there. The gears in his head attempted to turn, but gave up. He wanted to say that he felt empty, except he felt nothing at all. He didn't feel anything. 

Shrugging halfheartedly, he plucked his favorite kitchen knife from the knife block and laid it carefully on the counter. 

“I'll come back for you later,” he half-whispered, half-mumbled. 

Was he really talking to a knife? 

Oh, well. It's the closest thing I have to a friend right now anyways. He laughed, although he didn't find it funny. 

Limping back to the bathroom, he turned on the shower, and registered faintly the blood still dripping from his hands and puddling around his feet. 

It doesn't matter. There'll be plenty of that where you're going. 

A small voice in the back of Ethan’s mind wondered who was going to find his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this chapter wasn't too confusing! imo, it really cements how much of an unreliable narrator ethan is here, because he's not-so-slowly getting mentally worse, and we only see stuff from his POV. 
> 
> also! this work, as will be any of my other works, is only fiction! the characters here, while based off real life people, are just that: characters. i base ethan off myself and my own insecurities and thoughts. i don't think they're like this irl, and i would never want to make them uncomfortable with my writing. 
> 
> sorry for the long notes but one last thing: i'm really not doing well lately, as i've mentioned and you guys have been so nice and understanding about it. i only mention it because..well. recently i've been going downhill pretty fast, and if i was waiting for an in-progress fic to be updated and the author suddenly disappeared, i would wonder what happened. i don't want you guys to wonder. so.. i'm really trying not to. but if this story really suddenly stops getting updated and it goes a long time.. it's pretty safe to assume that i might have... committed. especially considering that i've been having increasing thoughts and tendencies for it recently. 
> 
> anyways, i'm going to try to at least finish the fic so you guys aren't left hanging before i do anything (haha, no pun intended) (i hate myself for that one i'm sorry lol). writing this and you guys are one of the only things helping me stay, knowing that people are relying on me. i'm not saying it's your guys' job to say anything because you won't influence me either way, my mind is pretty made up, but: i love you. thank you for reading. hopefully i'll be able to finish this for you guys before anything happens. 
> 
> love ya. hope you liked this chapter <3


	7. A Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan finally says goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, this chapter has the potential to be very triggering, and i mean VERY, so please don't read if you think you could get triggered. seriously. 
> 
> well... here's the big chapter. poor ethan. to avoid spoilers, i'm gonna end that here for now and just enjoy the chapter!

Ethan stood under the shower water in a haze, staring at the pink-tinted water running off his body, although he wasn't registering it. 

His mind was filled with soft cotton. There was no space for anything else, no thoughts running through his head, no worries about Mark and Amy. He wasn't thinking about anything, which was concerning. When he was in that state, he knew from experience, he tended to do very dangerous things. Ethan didn't have enough presence of mind to snap out of it, though, so he just watched the water flow down the drain. 

The bottoms of his feet and hands still stung, and he had a brief notion that he should probably pick out the glass shards. With a grimace, he dug his nails into a piece of glass embedded in his palm and dug it out, collecting it in his other hand. Rivulets of crimson flowed faster, and he wondered dully when it would stop bleeding. 

The glimmering knife, waiting on the counter, flashed through his mind for a moment, and he thought again about what he was going to do. He had a plan now, to prove to himself that this was something he wasn't just doing on impulse and instead something he had been actively thinking about and running through in his head. 

Everything felt foggy as Ethan stared at his hand. Twitching his fingers once, he did it again, not believing that it was actually him doing it, that he was the one living his life right at the moment, that he was the one moving his muscles. He simply couldn't wrap his mind around the thought that he was the one doing this; he felt like he was watching something else from a third person perspective controlling his body. It wasn't him. The person was Ethan, and he was not Ethan. He was featureless, mindless, thoughtless. He didn't exist. 

Eventually, the water running over his shoulders turned cold, and he finished picking the shards of glass out of his skin. His stomach growled and sharp pain stabbed through him, but he didn't care. Stepping out of the shower, Ethan leaned his elbows on the counter and looked at himself in the mirror. 

His reflection didn't look like him and it scared him. He looked pale and gaunt. His cheekbones were prominent, his skin sallow and clinging to the bones of his face. Dark bags encircled his eyes, which looked dull and lifeless. His collar bones were sticking out, yet he still looked at himself and thought, 

You're so fat. No wonder everyone hates you. 

He gazed back at the person in the mirror. It wasn't him. He was not Ethan, he was not this 23 year old YouTuber that people liked, he was not this skinny, pale boy. Because he was fat. He was ugly, he was disgusting, nobody liked him. Everyone found him annoying. There was no way he could be Ethan. 

He pulled away from the mirror, not being able to stand his reflection. Opening the medicine cabinet, he found the prescription bottle of pills that he had stopped taking months ago for his anxiety and ADHD. Rifling around in the cabinet, he took all the pill bottles he could find, no matter what they were. Arms full of bottles, he stumbled, vision blurring for a few seconds, and he had to stop and concentrate. His body felt like it was about to pass out. It had been so long since he had eaten a single thing. 

Ethan’s phone buzzed from inside his bedroom as he walked by. Hesitating for a moment, he walked in and grabbed it off the nightstand. Flipping it over, he noticed 8 missed calls and texts from Amy and 12 from Mark. Shit, how long had it been since he talked to them? He didn't even know anymore. He had lost track of time, all alone in his house. 

Oh, well. They would forget about him soon enough. It was better for them that way, anyway. The sooner they could stop dealing with a burden like him, the better their lives would be. That was all he really wanted. A better life for his best friend and the man he was so painfully in love with.. that would never love him back. 

He opened the Messages app and scrolled through a few. 

Mark: You haven't talked to me in a couple days. Everything okay?  
10:06 AM, 8/16/20

Mark: Ethan?  
1:34 AM, 8/18/20 

Mark: Dude, we had filming today. You missed it… Call me.  
6:18 PM, 8/19/20 

Mark: Ethan, I'm starting to get worried. Call me now, please.  
10:42 AM, 8/20/20

Damn, had it really been that long? What was the date today? 

His phone read 3:02 AM, 8/21/20. Oops. 

Ethan read through some more messages. 

Amy: hey eef, you okay?  
2:47 PM, 8/16/20

Amy: mark says you haven't talked to him in days. did we do smth wrong??  
9:20 PM, 8/19/20

Amy: ethan? are you okay??  
4:28 AM, 8/20/20

Shutting off his phone and slipping it into his pocket, Ethan let out a deep breath. He stared at the wall for a moment. 

Amy and Mark would get over it. They were only asking because they needed someone to film for Unus Annus. 

Shit! Unus Annus! 

He had missed filming. 

For the first time since he made his mind up, Ethan felt a small stab of guilt. His viewers didn't deserve for him to suddenly disappear, even if he knew they didn't really care. 

Walking out of his room and into the kitchen, Ethan carefully set the pill bottles on the counter next to the knife. He looked at it for a second. In his mind, streams of red flowed from his body, pain and pleasure coursing through him. 

He shuddered. 

Ethan walked into his recording room and sat down at his computer, taking a deep breath. How was he going to make this video? 

Emotions battled for control in his head. He had no idea what he was going to say once he clicked record. 

He clicked record, looked into the camera, and started speaking. 

Ten minutes later, he had the video. Tears were freely streaming down his face now as he typed out a quick description and posted it. 

Quickly, he picked up his phone and opened the messages app.

To: Mark  
3:28 AM, 8/21/20  
I’m so sorry. It'll be easy to find someone else to do Unus Annus with. I love you… and I always have. I'm sorry. 

To: Amy  
3:29 AM, 8/21/20  
Thank you for everything, Amy. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to betray you like this. I wish you knew how great of a friend you are. 

Ethan sent the texts and let out a shuddering breath. He sat with his head in his hands for a moment and then stood up with purpose. Striding to the door, he walked into the kitchen. 

Walking to the cabinet, he grabbed a glass with shaky hands. The broken glass still lay on the floor, and he gave it a wide berth. 

He filled up the glass with water and set it on the counter, beginning to unscrew the caps of the pill bottles. 

In his pocket his phone buzzed once. 

Dumping the pills all onto the counter, he began to count them. 

His phone buzzed again, then once again a second later, faster this time. 

Ethan counted fifty-six pills. He wasn't sure if that would be enough, but he hoped so. Combined with the other method, it should finally let him leave the body he hated so much. 

Notifications were blowing up his phone now, but he hardly noticed. 

Ethan popped some of the pills into his mouth and swallowed them with water. He did it again, taking almost twice as many pills this time. Tears started streaming down his face again and he sobbed. He felt so broken. 

He choked and gagged a bit on the next mouthful of pills, his throat burning. Good. It was what he deserved. 

On the last mouthful, he quickly swallowed the water before he could chicken out. Ethan just stood there for a second. There was no backing out now. He felt dizzy and his vision was blurry from the tears. 

He was so scared. Did he really want to die? Was this really what he wanted? Did he really hate himself this much? 

Yes. 

Grabbing the knife off the counter, he inhaled shakily. Beginning to cut across his forearms, he watched the way the blood quickly began to gush out. The knife made larger, deeper cuts than his razor blade. 

This time, Ethan didn't stop at his forearms. He slashed all across his delicate upper inner arms; his thighs, his calves, both arms, the sides of his neck and his hands. Blood was everywhere, and he was starting to get really dizzy as the thick metallic scent filled the air. 

He cried harder. He was so sick of everything. He was so cold. He hated himself. He hated how fat and pathetic and annoying and disgusting he was. He hated everything about himself. He didn't want to live for anything anymore. He was done. He was free. 

Taking one last deep breath, Ethan turned the knife vertically and dragged it down his left wrist, hard. Sharp pain erupted, and he couldn't help but let out a choked sob and a yelp of pain at the intense stinging and burning. Snot and tears ran down his face and onto his hoodie as he shook violently, watching the blood pour quickly. 

The knife dropped from his hand and clattered loudly onto the floor. Ethan wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing deep red all across his face. He felt like he was dying. 

He guessed, well, he was. 

Faintly he wondered if Mark would ever have liked him back. If Amy would have ever been fine with it. If his channel would have ever gotten huge. If he would have gotten better. 

Despair wracked his body. He regretted it and at the same time he didn't. Swaying side to side, blood dripped quickly down his arms, legs, and neck, although he doubted he had hit anything vital there. A faint buzzing sound from somewhere was starting to annoy him, and as his vision faded he realized it was his phone, going off nonstop. Weakly, he threw it across the room, and watched it crack against the wall. 

Ethan staggered to the living room, stomach cramping and blood pouring from his ruined body. His head pounded and throbbed, his stomach stabbed itself, his limbs itched and burned, and the hot blood made his body wet and sticky. He could feel his vision slowly fading to black, and realized that this was it. 

This was the end. 

He, Ethan Nestor, was about to die. 

He deserved it. He wanted it. Nobody liked him. This was what everyone wanted. 

He remembered all the times people had told him to go kill himself. He remembered the years of high school, of cutting himself and hurting so badly, and nobody ever noticed. He remembered feeling worthless and useless, and being told over and over by his brain that it was true. He remembered sobbing into his pillow alone at night, starved for someone to touch him. He remembered wondering if a therapist could ever help him, feeling like he was too broken to be saved. He remembered so many moments of his life, all flashing before his eyes. 

This was the end, and he was glad. 

Ethan felt his eyes flutter shut as a few more hot tears leaked from them. His freezing body, damp and leaking blood, fell to the floor with a dull thud, curling up as much as he could. His muscles relaxed and he no longer could control anything. His consciousness faded out and the last thing he heard was a dull ringing sound before everything sank into relieving, calming darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow.  
> sorry not sorry about the cliffhanger (kinda) lol.  
> again, this chapter had the potential to be really triggering (graphic descriptions of self-harm and suicide attempts)  
> i'm not sure if the part about the medication and the knife is entirely accurate to how it actually would be, i don't want any of you guys to find out tho. 
> 
> i'm just now realizing, the end of this fic is probably near! i mean, this is the climax of the story for the most part, so probably only 1-3 more chapters left! i plan on writing maybe another story i think after this one? if i'm here.. which you guys have all been incredibly supportive about, btw. my feelings haven't changed but i'm trying to hold on. you guys are helping. 
> 
> school is kinda kicking my ass ngl, so sorry about how long it took to update. hopefully the chapter qualities aren't getting worse as time goes on.. i kinda feel like they are. 
> 
> as always, thanks for reading and thanks so much for the comments and kudos! it means so much to me. love you guys <3


	8. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark finds out what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy crap it's been 10 days since i last updated this.   
> i am so sorry. i'm going through some personal stuff, and school is absolutely beating me, but it's no excuse.  
> i promise i haven't forgotten about this fic! it's always in the back of my mind.

Mark’s phone buzzed once from where it sat on his desk. Ignoring it, he let out a heavy sigh and ran his fingers through his shaggy dark hair, leaning back in his chair and staring mindlessly at his computer screen. 

He hadn't heard from Ethan in a few days, and he was starting to get worried and a bit annoyed. The boy had missed Unus Annus filming. He never missed filming. 

Mark tried to think back. When had he last heard from Ethan? A few days ago, that day after he had stayed over. 

The recollection of Ethan's blank, creepy stare from that day made him feel uneasy. He remembered how he had just stood there, until he was led mindlessly to the couch, where he had drifted off to sleep without saying a word while Mark and Amy wondered aloud what was going on. 

Then the next morning, Amy had promised to talk to him. Assuming she would take care of it, although small pangs of pain still resonated through him at the thought of what was going on with his friend, Mark had turned his attention to the latest horror game he was supposed to be playing. 

Ethan had burst in, wild-eyed and frantic. Confused, Mark had stood up and walked over to him, intending to have a serious conversation with him. But Ethan had just hugged him, catching him by surprise for a moment before he embraced the younger boy tenderly. 

He still remembered the feeling of the frail, warm body in his arms, shaking like a leaf. Remembered how safe he had felt, the joy that had radiated through his heart, the pure affection and maybe something a little deeper that had filled him. 

Ethan had stepped back, holding him at arm’s length, and… thanked him? And then he had said that he had to go, and hurried out the door, his eyes gleaming strangely. 

Mark had just stood there for several long moments, his arms empty without Ethan in them. 

Eventually, he had sat back down and tried to process it all, but gave up and went to sleep. 

Now he wished he had given it more though. He hadn't heard a thing from Ethan in days- complete radio silence. It was like he had died or something. 

He laughed a bit to himself. That was a stupid thought. Ethan was fine. 

Another buzz of Mark’s phone interrupted his thoughts, and he refocused his eyes as he leaned over and picked up his phone without looking. 

Flipping it over, Mark looked at his notifications. He had several new Twitter mentions from the last minute, which he would look at in a moment. 

Another notification, from YouTube- 3 minutes ago. 

3:22 AM: CrankGameplays uploaded: “i have to go.” 

Mark froze as he read the title. What? Where was Ethan going? 

A bad feeling crept into his gut as he clicked on the video. It was only two minutes and twenty-seven seconds long. 

Turning his phone sideways, Mark took a deep breath and pressed play. 

Ethan sat in his chair, facing the camera, but he was drooping, as if it took maximal effort just to speak. His eyes looked sunken in and huge dark circles plagued his under eyes. His skin looked pale- much too pale. And he looked like he had lost even more weight since Mark had seen him. 

But the scariest part was his eyes, as he stared directly into the camera, and what felt like Mark’s soul. Because his eyes lacked everything that made Ethan...Ethan. Normally so bright and full of excitement, they now held...nothing. No recognition of what was happening, no cheerfulness, no emotion. Just a dark, glassy stare. And that was what freaked out Mark the most. 

Ethan took a deep breath on screen and began to speak, his voice raspy and his words slurred.

“For four years now, I've been living in LA. And for four years now, I've been closer with Mark than I ever thought was possible. For four years, he has been my best friend, and Amy too, has been there with me.   
“Yet all my life, I've struggled. I've struggled mentally. I don't know what's wrong with me, I don't know how it started. All I know is that it can never go away. Mental illness can never go away. It can only be treated.   
“I can’t handle the thought that for every day, the rest of my life, I'm going to have to struggle to get up. I'm going to have to struggle not to hate everything I do. I'm going to have to struggle to have a normal social interaction. And I can’t handle that. I can’t handle any of it anymore.   
“What's the point of me living on? What's the reason? I don’t contribute anything to the world. All I do is take up space and people's time and mooch off of other people. All I am is useless. I’m a failure.”  
Ethan's eyes are shimmering now, and his nose is turning red. He sniffles, clearly holding back tears, and pauses for a few seconds before he keeps going.   
“I genuinely can't think of any time in my life when I've been proud of myself. I can’t think of one thing that I’ve done that I didn’t immediately overanalyze and worry about and stress about.   
“I'm done. I'm done overthinking everything, I'm done being stressed out. I just want to be free. I just want to be peaceful,”   
Ethan’s voice cracks, and he swallows hard onscreen.   
“S-so this is it. I just wanted to say, I’m sorry. I'm sorry for leaving you all so suddenly. I know a few of you maybe looked up to me but… you’ll find someone better in time. I recommend Mark,” says Ethan, staring directly into the camera.   
A singular tear drops down Ethan’s face as he keeps going.  
“Mark… I'm so sorry. You deserved so much better. You deserved a better partner, a better friend, a better coworker.. a better person. I wish I could have been that person but I guess it was just…never meant to be.”   
Tears are streaming down Ethan’s face now as he talks, and he is openly emotional. His eyes are so red.   
“Thank you for trying to be there for me. Thank you for at least..trying. It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong, I want you to know that. This just wasn't the right place for me, and now I'm finally going there.”   
On-screen Ethan sobs, hard, wiping his face with his hands before uttering a few more sentences.   
“So.. by the time you see this, I'll be gone. Pills taken, wrists slit. It's too late, I'm sorry. Tell my parents I love them, please, and to all of you guys… thank you for always watching me. I have to go now.”   
The screen turns to black as Mark stares in disbelief. His heart has been steadily sinking and his veins turn to ice as he fully realizes what he just saw. 

Twitter notifications are blowing up his phone, people asking what's going on. Everyone is panicked. This is real. He has more notifications too, texts and DMS, but he doesn't bother. 

Ethan is not okay. Mark has to get there, now. 

Jumping up, he sprints downstairs, shouting for Amy as he takes the stairs three at a time and shoves on his shoes. “We have to go, please Amy, call an ambulance, Ethan’s not okay!” 

Icy panic fills his veins as he grabs his keys, not wasting a second. All that fills his mind is Ethan, Ethan, Ethan. Please be okay. He won't even let himself think about if Ethan is not okay. 

Mentally, he’s kicking himself. Why didn't he check on Ethan? Why didn't he try harder? Why was he so stupid?? 

Driving recklessly, not caring about speed limits, he pulls up in front of Ethan’s house. All the lights are out. 

His heart drops like a rollercoaster. No. Please. 

Tripping and scraping his palms, Mark stumbles back to his feet and takes off running towards Ethan’s front door. He bangs furiously on it, each thump of his fist punctuating the stabbing at his heart. 

With each half second that nobody answers, Mark becomes more frustrated and angry and hurt, and nearly wrenches off the doorknob as he somehow manages to unlock it from the outside and pull open the door violently. 

He bolts inside, looking around cautiously but quickly for any signs of the only thing that's important to him in the world at the moment. 

The sound of Amy’s car faintly pulling up into the street registers in his ears, but he isn't paying attention, instead looking at the living room carpet. 

There lies the body of his best friend, in a tiny crumpled heap, in a frighteningly large pool of sickening crimson. 

He almost gags at how purely wrong the sight is, but steps closer. 

“Ethan?!” His voice is pure desperation. 

The body- no, Ethan, doesn't respond or stir, and a choked sound forces its way out of Mark’s throat as he reaches for him helplessly. 

Grabbing his wrist, Mark turns it over, seeing how easily his fingers fit around the scarily thin wrist, and he almost gags again as he sees the thick vertical lines running down each wrist. 

There's so much blood. His hands are sticky and the air carries a heavy metallic scent. 

Mark tries desperately to stem the flow of blood coming from both the wrists of his best friend with his own hands because no, this isn't happening. Ethan can't be dying. 

Cradling Ethan’s limp body in his arms and kneeling on the rug, Mark sobs openly as tears begin to flow. He tries more to stop the blood. Please, make it stop. Ethan’s head flops around as he readjusts, and the sight is horrible. This isn't Ethan. Ethan should be full of life, bouncing around and laughing at Mark, messing up words and eating stupid stuff. 

Please. If Ethan survives this, he’ll never want anything else again. He'll never take another moment with him for granted, he'll never spend another moment apart from him. 

He loves Ethan, and Ethan needs to be able to hear that. He needs to be able to know. 

Amy bursts in the door wildly, eyes going wide and a hand clapping over her mouth as she spots the scene. “Oh my fucking god,” she whispers, and Mark thinks Amy is trying hard not to gag too, because everything is so wrong. 

She runs over and drops to her knees beside Mark, holding Ethan’s head in her arms as she rocks back and forth desperately. “The paramedics will- they'll be here in 7 minutes but I told them that's too long, they have to hurry, but-” 

A sob forces its way out of her mouth, and hot tears drip relentlessly into Ethan’s lifeless face as Mark swallows hard. Blood is still pumping, that must mean something, right? 

Ethan’s face is pale, his eyes closed loosely and his chalky mouth open a bit. His entire body is limp, his arms bloody and lifeless. He's still alive. He has to be. 

Mark feels like his entire world is crashing down around him as he hears the steady drip, drip, drip of red liquid onto the floor, and the panicky sobs of Amy next to him. All he hears on his mind, though, is Ethan. 

Ethan, so joyful, calling him a dumbass and smiling happily. Ethan, whining Mark’s name in that specific tone that he knew annoyed the older man. Ethan looking up at him, that one moment when his life changed forever as a skinny teenager grinned and asked if he could do a backflip for him. 

He felt like he was in shock. None of this was real. It had to be a sick dream.

The sound of sirens bounced off the walls faintly, and then louder, as paramedics rushed onto the scene. Uniformed men and women practically sprinted in, carrying all sorts of medical equipment and immediately crowding around. 

Mark stared numbly at nothing, the voices of paramedics ringing in his ears, as one thought filled his brain. 

If Ethan dies right now, I'll never get to tell him I love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a chapter from mark's pov! 
> 
> btw, i have two very different ways that i want this to end, depending on the mood i'm in when i write the next chapter. there will be probably 1-3 more chapters after this, depending on which ending i choose. 
> 
> thank you so much for all the support and stuff. i appreciate it so much <3


	9. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark sits in the hospital waiting room, trying to come to terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it has been WAY too long since i updated this bad boy. i've been stuck between two ideas of where to bring the story for a while and i finally decided.. hope i'm not making anyone mad, lol. 
> 
> anyways, enjoy this one and no spoilers so there'll be more AN's at the end!

Mark stares at his hands and tries to remember what happened. 

He remembers desperately attempting to staunch the flow of blood from Ethan’s limp wrists with his fingers, the blinding lights and sounds of sirens shrieking in his ears, and sobbing like the world was ending. 

His world was ending. 

He remembers hearing one of the paramedics shout that Ethan’s heartbeat was slowing, that they were losing the patient and had to get him to the hospital immediately. 

He remembers the way Amy’s cold hand clenched his tightly for reassurance as he stared at the metal doors that taunted him, sitting nervously on the edge of the waiting room seat. 

He remembers faintly registering a growl in his stomach and not even caring, as Amy told him that she was going to go for a little while because they had been there for almost five hours.

He remembers the heart-wrenching grief for what could be happening that squeezed his heart and suffocated his lungs as he sat in that cold, empty waiting room, and the hollow emptiness that replaced it after. 

He remembers thinking that he would wait for hours, days, months if it meant that Ethan was okay. Because Ethan couldn't be dead. His best friend, his partner, the boy he was in love with.. he couldn't be gone. The doctors would save him. 

He remembers faintly registering that his hands were stained a faint crimson as he held them in his lap, the metallic smell making him gag a bit as he saw in his mind the way Ethan’s skin had been so pale and lifeless. 

He remembers almost falling asleep, still in the cold hard chair as he both waited and dreaded the news. What if Ethan was gone? He didn't think he could take it. 

He remembers looking at the nice doctor’s shiny ring that she wore on her left hand, thinking about how he should have proposed to Ethan as she talked. He remembers staring vacantly as she told him that she was sorry, but they didn't think his friend was going to make it. 

His friend. Ethan, his friend. His best friend, his partner for Unus Annus, the person who he thought he knew most in the world. 

The person that he apparently had no idea was struggling so much, that he didn't see the signs in. The person that he couldn't save. The person that he never got to tell he loved. 

Mark doesn't cry. He stares at the floor and drifts away. Drifts away, to a world where Ethan is not going to die and where Amy is here, hugging him close, and where he doesn't feel so cold. Cold, like his limbs are freezing off. Cold, so cold, iciness gripping his heart and making his fingers tingle. 

He sees Ethan laugh in complete joy, golden sunlight dappling his soft skin, healthy. Happy. Gone are the dark circles, the sunken-in, dead eyes. Gone are the frail, weak arms and legs, and the too-skinny stomach. Gone are the collarbones sticking out worryingly, gone is the hate that he used to see in Ethan’s eyes every time he caught a glimpse of his reflection. Here, Ethan is happy. 

His Ethan. He misses his Ethan. 

His Ethan looks like an angel. Reaching out his hand, smiling softly with kindness in his eyes. Smooth, unscarred forearms, lush hair that he could run his fingers through for hours, rosy lips and cheeks. 

His Ethan is alive. His Ethan is happy. His Ethan doesn't hate himself. His Ethan never showed any signs that anything was wrong. 

Mark’s heart swells and he feels… happy. Happy. He's happy, he's alive, he's okay. Ethan is okay. Ethan isn't dead. 

Mark takes Ethan's hand and looks him deep in his dark, adoring eyes, running his free hand along Ethan’s soft jawline. Ethan closes his eyes and leans almost peacefully into the touch. 

His throat clenches a bit, and he shudders before he finally manages to choke out, “I love you, Ethan. I'm in love with you.” 

Ethan’s eyes open and his eyebrows arch a bit, although it's in more of a pitying look rather than curious. He cocks his head and looks patronizingly, but not unkindly at Mark. 

“Mark…” he whispers out, letting the words flow from his soft lips. His hair gleams in the sunlight and his smooth skin glows. 

“You don't love me. I'm not Ethan.” 

“W-what?” Mark stutters out as confusion leaps to his mind. He begins to pull his hand away, alarms ringing in his head. 

Ethan looks almost sad, like he knows something Mark doesn't. “I'm not him. He's… gone. I'm sorry.” 

Mark’s eyes widen and he chokes. His heart drops. “No. No, please! Wait, no!” 

In front of his eyes, Ethan smiles sadly, and he droops. His skin becomes sallow and pale, his hair looking brittle and weak, and bones stick out of his arms again. His eyes lose their luster, and he looks more sickly than ever as he changes suddenly. 

Now Ethan is actually in front of him, Mark realizes. The real Ethan wasn't… that wasn't him. Because as much as Mark wanted to believe that his Ethan was perfect, Ethan wasn't. Ethan had needed his help, had been showing so many signs, had been practically crying out for help and Mark had just.. never noticed. Sure, he had become a bit concerned after he found out about Ethan starving himself but… he didn't know. 

He should have known. 

Mark hates himself so much at that one moment, because he should have known. He should have seen the signs, he should have been a better friend. He should have done something. 

He realizes that the doctor has walked away, no doubt having other people to talk to. A flicker of hate shoots through Mark’s heart, at the thought that she had just told him that.. god, his best friend was basically dead and … she just left. She left. Like everyone else. 

“Ethan left me,” he whimpers out. “He left.” Mark holds his head in his hands and lets out a strangled sob. “He left. How could he leave me?” Rocking back and forth, choking, heaving sobs rise, one after another in his throat, and he can't breathe. He's hyperventilating because Ethan isn't here, Ethan is gone, Ethan left him. Ethan is gone. Ethan is dead. 

Ethan is dead. 

“Oh my god, he's dead. He's d-dead. Ethan is fucking dead, he's gone, I killed him. I killed him, I should h-have seen it coming, it's my fault, I…” Mark chokes on his words and hot tears are pouring down his face as he hears a faint buzzing all around him. Everything else fades out until it's just Mark, rocking back and forth and sobbing uncontrollably and wishing he was dead. He wishes he was fucking dead. 

Maybe now that Ethan was dead, he was supposed to say some stupid shit like, “Suicide is bad, it hurts everyone else.” But at the moment, all he wanted was to hold a gun to his fucking head and pull the trigger until blood spattered all across the wall and his heart stopped beating, until he saw Ethan again. 

Scraping his fingernails across his wrists, Mark scratched harder and harder as violent sobs wrecked him completely. Angry red marks swelled up, but he didn't care. Emotions overtook him, he couldn't breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and felt himself taking shallow, wheezing breaths that did nothing to let more oxygen into his system. He tried to take deep breaths, but they turned into shudders and inevitable sobs. 

“E-Ethan, please come back. I'm so sorry, I'll do better, I'll never get mad at you again. I l-... I love you, please come back. Please. I'm so sorry. Please!” He felt himself slipping away as he cried out hysterically. 

Eventually, the rush of emotions fades out, and he feels just empty again. A shell of himself, hollow and wrecked. His cheeks are stiff with dried tears, his eyes puffy, the fluorescent lights of the empty waiting room hurting his head. He stares at his hands, trying to remember what happened. 

Mark shuts his eyes tightly as the memories all flood through his head again, and a rush of emotions fills him for a brief second before all he feels is empty again. Instead of hysterical, he feels like he doesn't exist anymore. Like that's not him, Mark, in his body, because that's not him that it's happening to, because Ethan isn't dead. 

In a ruined voice, his throat raspy from sobbing, his heart breaking all over again, he stares at the ground and chokes out,

“Please, Ethan. Come back.” 

His eyes close, and he slumps forward in his chair, passing out from exhaustion almost immediately. 

After about 30 minutes, clicking shoes echo throughout the room as the doctor from before stands in front of his sleeping form, her expression unreadable. Gently reaching out a hand and shaking his shoulder, she allows Mark a second to wake up. 

Mark blinks fuzzily. His heart throbs dully for a second as he remembers exactly what happened. He's so drained. Emotions have left him. 

Peering up at the doctor, he squeezes his hands into a fist by his sides, because even though he already knows what she's going to tell him, he doesn't think he can take it. He doesn't think he can handle knowing that Ethan is really gone. 

She smiles down at him a bit sadly, and as Mark hears the first few words of, “I’m sorry,”, his heart turns to stone, and he knows how broken he looks, because he is. He's broken. 

“...it actually turns out we were wrong. He's doing well and his condition is steadily improving. He's asleep right now if you want to go in and see him?” 

Mark’s mind clears instantly, relief and joy filling his heart as it soars and his head snaps up to look at her. 

“Ethan is okay?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayyy!! i chose ethan surviving instead of the one i was so tempted to do, where he dies. but i think after all he's been through, he deserves a happy ending. 
> 
> next chapter will be a sort of prologue? i think the word is? basically it'll be the aftermath and their lives after. it's so hard to believe that this fic is basically done. thank you guys all so much for all the support!! i was definitely not expecting it especially since it's only my first fic ever, let alone in this fandom! 
> 
> thank you so much for reading and commenting and leaving kudos and bookmarking and aaaa i love you all so much <33 thank you


	10. One Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark sees Ethan for the first time after his attempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fucking SHIT IT HAS BEEN OVER A MONTH SINCE I LAST UPDATED THIS, I AM SO SORRY!! (see notes at end) 
> 
> anyways, this is the last chapter. kind of a prologue and the aftermath of what happened. thank you all so so much for reading and following along, and sorry about the wait.

Peering up at the doctor, he squeezes his hands into a fist by his sides, because even though he already knows what she's going to tell him, he doesn't think he can take it. He doesn't think he can handle knowing that Ethan is really gone.

She smiles down at him a bit sadly, and as Mark hears the first few words of, “I’m sorry,”, his heart turns to stone, and he knows how broken he looks, because he is. He's broken.

“...it actually turns out we were wrong. He's doing well and his condition is steadily improving. He's asleep right now if you want to go in and see him?”

Mark’s mind clears instantly, relief and joy filling his heart as it soars and his head snaps up to look at her.

“Ethan is okay?!”  
~~~~~~~~

So many different emotions crash over him all at once that it's almost overwhelming. Mark holds his breath for a second as he waits for her to repeat herself, afraid that he heard wrong, or she wasn't being serious. 

The kind doctor merely gives him a bittersweet smile and tilts her head, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Yes, your friend is recovering steadily. Would you like to go in and see him?” 

He doesn't know how to feel and trips over his words as he murmurs, “Yes, of course, please, please let me see him, I want to see him.” His legs feel like they belong to someone else as he rises up from his chair and follows her, and almost collapses after how long he's been sitting. 

Shivers run down his spine as Mark follows the doctor, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor, and she stops in front of a heavy mahogany door. Nodding at it, she says offhandedly, “He's in there. Visiting hours end at 9.”

As she walks off, he checks his watch. It's nearly 10 AM, and he's been there since about 4 AM. Jesus Christ. 

Looking back up at the door, anxiety skyrockets through his bloodstream. He's not sure what he’ll find inside; if Ethan will be happy to see him, or disappointed that he failed his attempt. He doesn't think he can handle it if Ethan thinks he shouldn't have survived. 

Mark takes a deep breath, turns the handle, and walks in. Ethan is laying in the bed, but he doesn't look like Ethan. 

He’s pale. Much paler than he was only earlier that day, and his eyes have huge dark circles under them. Various IVs are hooked up to him and- most sickening of all- thick Ace bandages are wrapped around each wrist, almost all the way up to his elbows. The knowledge of what his wrists looked like under that gauze makes Mark want to throw up. 

As his eyes wander up Ethan's body, they meet his eyes. And Ethan, who is usually so easy to read, is now unreadable, his face stoic, although it's clear from the dried tear tracks on his face that he has been crying. Hollow eyes stare back at him, blank and puffy. 

Mark manages to choke out a small, “E-Ethan?”, feeling his throat dry out. 

Ethan looks back at him, glassy-eyed, and then all of a sudden the dam seems to break and recognition flares behind his eyes. They widen almost comically, and Mark sees confusion, astonishment, realization, heartbreak, anger, and disappointment dance across his exhausted features all in the span of a second. 

God, I love you, it hits him, sudden affection filling his heart. All he can feel is relief looking at Ethan, his best friend, the person he loves most in the world, and knowing that he's alive, even if he doesn't feel well. And even if he wants more from Ethan, wants Ethan to want more, he pushes it aside for the moment because really, all he wants right now is to protect Ethan, to hold the smaller boy in his arms and breathe in his scent and never let him go. 

When Ethan speaks, his voice is raspy and croaky, and it takes him forever to get it out, but it's his voice nonetheless. “I…. Mark… you should have… you should have just let me die there.” 

Shock fills his body. “What?” Did he hear that right? Did Ethan really not want to be saved?

Ethan sighs and looks up at him still standing awkwardly at the foot of the end, fiddling with a tiny tube attached to his hand. He sounds heartbroken and resigned. “I don't deserve this. I should have died- I have no reason to live anymore.” Silence fills the room. 

“Ethan..” he looks at Ethan's sickly face, illuminated by the fluorescent lights, notes how frail he looks laying there in the hospital bed, thinks about how he felt like the world was ending when he thought he was dead. Mark wants to tell him how his heart was in physical agony, how he sobbed for hours on end, how all he wanted at the moment was to die, how much he regretted not confessing his fucking undying love and most of all, how he realized how much he loved Ethan. How much he couldn't live without him. 

But he doesn't say any of that. Instead, what comes out in a small and nervous voice is, “I love you.” 

Ethan looks a bit surprised, but blinks and mutters out, “I know, you're my best friend and everything but I just…”

“No.” Mark is surprised by the firmness in his own gravelly tone. “I mean.. I love you. I'm in love with you, Ethan.”

Ethan just stares at him for a moment, and Mark almost wants to laugh, though he doesn't think it would be appropriate. Emotions flicker over his face, but this time they are too fast and varied for Mark to recognize. 

“I…” Ethan's voice is shaky yet a bit hopeful. “I love you too.”

Mark smiles softly then, for the first time in hours, and his heart lifts. “Then that's one reason to start with.” 

~~~~~~~six months later~~~~~~~

Ethan flips over and shoves his phone in Mark’s face-who blinks sleepily-, doubled over and wheezing silently from laughter. On-screen, a man attempts to jump a barrier and trips, falling, and an entire shelf of products falls on him. The video replays over and over as Ethan is practically crying laughing, his knees hitting Mark as his laughter shakes the entire bed. 

Pulling the blankets back onto his side, Mark scoffs a bit and smiles fondly. “Eth, it's 4 am- Why are you still awake?” There's no real scolding in his tone, and although he should be annoyed that Ethan woke him up in the middle of the night to show him a video of a dude falling, he's not. 

Ethan is too busy laughing to respond, and joy and affection rise in his heart as he stares at the dark ceiling. Yep, this is where he wants to be. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

In the morning, Mark wakes before Ethan and stares at him, the early-morning rain pattering on the windows and casting soft shadows on his smooth skin as he breathes peacefully, a small smile on his face even in his sleep. The now pale pink scars are outlined faintly on his bare wrists, and he knows Ethan is no longer ashamed of them. 

Mark knows that he should get up, but it's cold in their house. Instead, he snuggles further into the blankets and moves so that he has an arm and leg draped over his boyfriend, cuddling into his chest and sighing contentedly. 

Thunder rumbles outside and the rain falls harder, but they are warm and cozy under the blankets, together and in love, and everything is perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been over a month since i updated this and i feel so bad, especially since i ended on a cliffhanger. i knew i SHOULD get around to writing it but i just ignored the thoughts in my mind- i've had a lot going on and it was easier to just ignore than finally write. so idk what made me write this finally, but it's here. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading my stupid first-time work. i'm not sure if too many people read this fandom anymore, so maybe almost nobody will see it, but to those of you that do and those who have read it; thank you. so much. this fic has been a fucking ROLLERCOASTER and i love you all for sticking with me through it. 
> 
> i honestly don't know if i'm going to write anything else. i've lost a bit of motivation for this fandom and as we've learned, i do NOT do well on an uploading schedule so.. if i ever do post something else, it'll probably be uploads or something that isn't expected to be consistent. might be another fandom too tbh. 
> 
> anyways thank you so much for staying with me. i love you all.


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